Princess of the Blacks
by Silently Watches
Summary: Sirius searches for his goddaughter and finds her in one of the least expected and worst possible locations and lifestyles. DARK and NOT for children. fem!bisexual!Harry, eventual fem!Harry/Luna, femslash, powerful!Harry, James and Lily are alive, twin is BWL, year 4, better than it sounds
1. Candyland

**Where I would normally have a greeting, I must give a warning. If you are in any way squeamish or cannot read about BAD things happening to children, look for the little red button in the corner and press it. No one will blame you.**

**This story will mention and discuss extreme child abuse, rape, torture, human sacrifice, pedophilia, prostitution, and the effects this can have on children and teenagers. There are main characters who will perform horrendous acts and get away with it. I AM IN NO WAY PROMOTING OR CONDONING THE DEPRAVITIES THAT THIS STORY DEPICTS! All sexual activities will be "off-screen" or non-graphic; even if the admins allowed lemons, I am just NOT comfortable visualizing these actions to the degree I would need to write the scenes in any detail.**

**This story began developing in my head almost two years ago from an intellectual exercise over the following question: Harry was abused for ten years without any noticeable effect on his morality, so what would it take to actually break him? This train of thought had a snowball effect, and the tale of the Black Queen was born.**

**Disclaimer:** Was Harry abused by his "family" for ten years and no one noticed or did anything about it? If so, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.

* * *

**Chapter 1  
****Candyland**

Shortly after one in the morning, there was a man standing outside a building in the north side of Avryporth, Wales. This by itself was not unusual; while an older and somewhat decrepit part of Avryporth, there were still several clubs, bars, and hidden brothels operating in this area. This building in particular had a number of visitors at night, all of whom were very discreet. The man standing there had no idea of this.

No, what was strange was both the man and the reason he was standing outside that particular door. The man was named Sirius Orion Black, and he was a wizard. Until six months ago, he was also an escaped and wanted convict, and for almost twelve years before that, he was an inmate of Azkaban, the most secure prison in Wizarding Britain and, supposedly, the whole Magical World. He was the only man to have ever escaped under his own power.

And he should never have been there to begin with.

He had been in pursuit of Peter Pettigrew, an unknown but Marked Death Eater. The rat had been the Secret Keeper for the Potters' cottage in Godric's Hollow, and on that fateful Halloween in 1981, he whispered the location into Voldemort's ear. It had only been a stroke of luck that James and Lily had stubbornly refused to sit on the sidelines while the Order went to fight off the Death Eaters who had attacked Glastonbury as a distraction from their master's real target. After killing Charlus, James's recently widowed father, Voldemort turned his wand onto the children inside. What happened next no one knew, but the couple and Sirius had returned to find a fallen protector, an empty cloak, and two scared but unharmed infants.

He had chased Pettigrew to his hiding place in Edinburgh, fully prepared to capture the traitorous sneak and throw him to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but Wormtail had apparently learned a few tricks from his new best mate. What should have been a simple task became an outright duel in the middle of the street, and then it was over, a crater and twelve dead Muggles all that was left.

Under normal circumstances, that would have been the end of it; the Aurors who came to investigate finding that the curse that caused the devastation had been dark magic and the lingering fear from Voldemort's reign of terror had turned the whole situation into an absolute circus. Bartemius Crouch, the head of the DMLE, had charged him with thirteen counts of murder, the — at most — manslaughter charge elevated _'due to his use of illegal magics'_, and the reactionary Wizengamot quickly judged him guilty. No one had listened to his pleas of innocence after the 'evidence' had been laid out, not even James, the man Sirius would call the closest thing he had to a true brother. _'You could have done the right thing and captured him,'_ James had said, _'but instead you lowered yourself to his level. And dark magic? The Sirius I knew would have never even **considered** wielding that.'_

Between the depression practically oozing from Azkaban's walls and the condemnation of his friends and even Albus Dumbledore, the Leader of the Light, Sirius had managed to convince himself that it _was_ his fault, that maybe the lessons of his youth that he consciously rejected had stuck with him, after all. He was fully prepared to serve the rest of his thirteen consecutive life sentences in the hall of horrors until an annual inspection by Minister Cornelius Fudge brought him poorly-received news of the outside world. The _Daily Prophet_ he had conned revealed that Pettigrew was, somehow, _alive_; even worse, he was spending his time as a pet rat at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the same school where his godchildren, Daniel and Jennifer Potter, were to be found for ten months out of the year. He had to protect them!

Hence, his escape and the subsequent manhunt.

In December of 1993, he approached Remus Lupin, who was teaching at Hogwarts that year, and agreed to turn himself over if Lupin would just listen to his story. Sirius certainly did not want to capture the rat in this manner, but he had no choice: careful surveillance had shown him that while Danny was attending, his precious little Jenny was not.

Pettigrew was subsequently captured and sentenced to Sirius's old cell while Sirius was forced to spend the next six months in St. Mungo's to heal from the damage his twelve year imprisonment had caused. His first visitors was the three Potters, and while they had a great deal to discuss, his priority was the location and safety of Jenny.

"_Where is my goddaughter?" Sirius all but growled at the Potters. "Where is she, why wasn't she at Hogwarts where she is **supposed** to be?"_

_James closed his eyes in pain and Daniel, the Boy-Who-Lived, looked at his parents in confusion, so it was up to Lily to answer. "She hasn't lived with us since You-Know-Who attacked. She's with my sister, Petunia."_

"_WHAT?" Sirius was on his feet in an instant, magic pouring off of him in waves. "Why is she there, why don't you take care of her?"_

The answer they gave him was impossible: Jennifer was a Squib, and it would be easier for everyone if she were raised in a non-magical environment. Sirius could not accept that, he had _seen_ Jenny use magic when she was a child, but he kept his knowledge to himself. First the Potters had abandoned him, then their daughter; he would bring her back into the world she belonged in and care for her as his own, that was his duty as godfather if James and Lily couldn't or, apparently, wouldn't do so.

Once Sirius was discharged, he made his way to the Dursleys to speak with her, only for them to tell him they knew of no Jennifer Potter, they knew no Potters at all, and would he _kindly_ remove himself from their property. He was not an accomplished Legilimens like some, but he could search the mind of a mere Muggle without trouble; what he found disgusted him.

They had indeed taken Jenny in, but it was not out of kindness or even familial duty. They treated her like how many new Dark families treated house elves, expecting her to complete all the housework it was physically possible for her to perform–and even some that wasn't–and brutally beating her for not completing her "chores", taking too long, or even when she had done everything perfectly. The memories were too old for him to tell with certainty what happened, but they had finally gone too far, permanently injuring her, and left her on a street corner of London. She was five at the time.

He spent the next several weeks searching all over London for her when not in the midst of cleaning the Black Family townhouse in Grimmauld Place, with no results. In a stroke of inspiration, he had asked Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall to have the Hogwarts Quill write out a letter for her, which would lead him to her home.

He removed said letter from his pocket to double check the address.

_Ms. J. Potter  
__Manager's Office  
__Candyland Club  
__145 Delilah St.  
__Avryporth, Wales_

He replaced the letter and walked up to the building, the only indication that he was in the right place was a faded _Candyland_ painted on the door. Standing around never did anyone any good.

* * *

Immediately inside, Sirius looked around the small foyer, which was set up to be used to hang coats, if he didn't miss his guess. Walking farther into the building, he was addressed by a young girl wearing the strangest clothes, billowing black pants and a skintight yellow shirt that was outlining… _what in Merlin's name?_

"Can I help you, sir?"

Sirius cleared his throat and moved his eyes to her face. "Maybe, I'm looking for a girl and was told she was here. Her name–"

"I'm new here," the girl interrupted, looking abashed. "If you need to find someone, Mama Gin is the one you have to ask. She's at the bar tonight, can't miss her."

_Mama Gin, _he wondered. _What a strange name._ "Thank you for your help, miss." He walked away in the direction the girl had pointed to faster than he normally would. _There is no reason for __**any**__ six or seven year old girl to have __**nipple piercings.**_

He had shaken the disturbing image from his head by the time he entered the main room of the club; if he hadn't, the sight inside certainly would have. It was what would generally be expected from an adult club aimed at both genders: male and female servers wandering through the crowd with drinks and skimpy clothing, strippers dancing onstage, and even some club employees taking customer upstairs, presumably where they moonlighted as prostitutes.

The problem? All of the staff were between the ages of six and twelve.

The sinking feeling Sirius had started experiencing since he saw the greeter had now hit rock bottom. He knew, after dealing with the Dursleys, that Jenny had not had a good life, but he had hoped that at least she would have found someplace safe for her to stay; a strip club doubling as a child brothel did _not_ fulfill that wish.

Trying his best not to stop and stare at the depravity around him, or the perverts enjoying the 'show', he marched up to the bar in search of this 'Mama', who would be getting a piece of his mind and several curses from his wand, Statute of Secrecy be damned!

"I was told I needed to speak to Mama Gin," he snapped.

He had apparently offended Fate at some point in his life, because he was not able to say a word once the 'Mama' came over to him. _Not Gin, __**Jen**__._

She was taller and more developed than any of her coworkers, not surprising considering that she was nearly fourteen. Her black hair was filled with curls and tangles and pulled into a ponytail that came to the middle of her back. She was, like the others, wearing a revealing outfit: a midriff-bearing red tee shirt with a scooped neckline and a tight black miniskirt. She wore no jewelry, and the only cosmetics she had used was some pink lipstick. Sirius, however, noticed none of this. His attention was drawn to her eyes, which he knew would be the same emerald green as her mother's if they weren't hidden behind a thick red blindfold.

"What is it?" At least her Aunt and Uncle had not also damaged her throat; her voice was rich with a musical cadence, the voice of someone trained to sing.

"Er," was all he could say. Why, _why_, did his goddaughter have to live like this?

"Well?" she said, showing a hint of irritation. "If you don't have an order, I do have other customers."

That was the break Sirius needed to overcome his shock. "I have a message for you, Miss Jennifer Potter."

Her left eyebrow rose, a delicate look on her heart-shaped face. Turning to the other bartender, it was clear why she warranted the manager's office. "Drew, get Paula to watch the bar. I want you keeping up with who's upstairs with whom."

"Aye, aye, Mama," the boy replied, complete with jaunty salute. He scurried off, presumably to find Paula, while Jen turned back to Sirius.

"This way, sir."

"It's just Sirius. Sirius Black." He knew she had no memories of him, but he couldn't stand the formality that she showed him. He was at the end of his rope as it was.

* * *

Jen guided him to a back room, showing an incredible familiarity with the building as she used neither a cane nor the walls to navigate. The room was presumably her office, containing a couple of chairs and a beat up desk that was covered in paperwork and ledgers. In one corner was a file cabinet, and on top of that was a set of blankets. _Where does she sleep?_ Sirius wondered.

Seating herself behind the desk, she pointed to the other chair, which he gratefully took. "Now why would a wizard know my name, Mister Sirius Black?"

"You know about the Magical World?" He would give just about anything to be done with the shocks tonight. At her nod, he continued, "Well, that certainly makes it easier. I know your name for two reasons. First, I was lead here by a letter for you." He pulled it out and handed it over to her. "Second, I've known your name since before you were born. You see… I'm your godfather."

If he was expecting surprise from her, he was disappointed; she simply continued to look at him, or rather, point her face in his direction. "Considering I'm meeting you only now, I would think you're pretty sucky at it."

"Well, I just got out of prison," he said sheepishly. This was not how he wanted to inform her of his history, but he admitted to himself that he couldn't plan for her reactions, considering her 'childhood'. He also was not going to lie to her; he mostly ignored the Muggle quotes Lily recited to them, but he agreed with the one that went _'honesty is the best policy'_. If nothing else, it meant he wouldn't have to keep track of the sugar-coated story he would have otherwise told her.

"That's certainly a valid reason. What were you in for?"

_Not what I expected_, he thought listening to her obvious curiosity and, slight approval? "Murder and the use of Dark magic. I was framed, though, and was released once the actual criminal was arrested."

She sighed. "Oh." Disappointment, really? Only Sirius Black, appropriately initialed SOB, would have a goddaughter that _wanted_ a murderer as a godfather. "So why are you here? Gonna check on me and be done?" It was so painfully obvious to him that she relied on no one but herself, likely had done so since she started living at the Dursleys' house.

"Not unless you want no more contact with me. I actually came to bring you home. My home," he clarified to her quirked eyebrow, "if you want to leave here and not have to work until you're older, that is." _Lay out all your cards, you old dog, or she'll never trust you._

"And what benefits would I gain if, hypothetically, I went with you? And what costs?" Oh, this girl was a Slytherin, through and through. "Would I be expected to work in a family business, or perhaps provide _entertainment_ for your friends?"

"NO!" That was louder in the enclosed space than he thought it would be. "No, none of that. The Blacks are old money, and I'm the Head of the family, so you wouldn't need to work ever again if you didn't want to. And I will _never_ ask you to… do _that_ with anyone unless _you_ wanted to.

"The only real requirement I would have for you is to attend Hogwarts. Since you already know the Magical World, I assume you at least know about the school." He paused while she nodded. "You could have tutors over the summer to catch you up in any subjects you are behind your yearmates in–"

"That will not be necessary, Mister Black."

"Sirius."

"Sirius. I was educated by a witch from the time I was six years old until she died last year; I have since continued my education on my own. If Hogwarts still runs from eleven to seventeen, I should run no risk of being behind."

"Oh." How often was Jen going to catch him off guard like this? "In that case, forget I mentioned tutoring. The family has one of the largest magical libraries in Europe, which would be available to you, if you want it." He ignored the fact that normally he would be forbidding her from entering it. "Besides Hogwarts, I don't have any actual conditions other than trying to get along with the other members of the family. Who I really should get in touch with," he murmured the last to himself. He risked a glance at her, but nothing she was thinking appeared on her face.

"There is _one _other thing. You don't have to, but if you decided to formally be adopted into the Blacks, I, well I certainly would not object."

Jen continued to 'look' at him for a moment before she relaxed into her chair and gave him a small grin. "We'll talk about _that_ after we see how this whole thing goes, first."

* * *

**If anyone is still reading at this point, I know this was not what you expected to find when you followed the link. The good news is that this is the worst of it for _several _chapters, until I get to the portion of the story that gives some more of Jen's background, the summer of Year 5 or so. I will warn you in the AN when that chapter comes around.**

**One more disclaimer. To the best of my knowledge (a quick search on Google), there is no town of Avryporth in Wales. I made it up by twisting around the names of a few different Welsh towns. If there actually IS such a town, I sincerely apologize to all of its residents, whether they know of this story or not, for its depiction here. Worst case scenario, I will be willing to change the name to something else.**

**Compliments, comments, constructive criticisms, basically anything polite, are happily accepted. If it's not at least polite, I don't care and won't read it. I know some people are not pleased with the turns this story has already taken, and if they are unwilling to continue reading this story, I completely understand. Feel free to tell me if you are uncomfortable or dislike it for the content.**

**Now I'm going to hide in a bunker.**

**Silently Watches out (for my safety this time).**


	2. Grimmauld Place

**anthony37:** I'm glad the note didn't scare you off! I put it in there to cover my ass. Oh, we'll see their expressions, and their (poor) attempts at reconciliation. It'll be later, though.

**GrayTheBlueJay:** I know I responded with a PM to you, but for anyone else confused about Sirius still being in Azkaban, he wasn't put there without a trial for the betrayal of the Potters; he was tried and convicted of the murder of Pettigrew and the use of a dark explosive curse (which bumps the first charge up from manslaughter or assault). It's important to realize that the confrontation between him and Pettigrew was _not_ the same as in canon; here it was a fight, and Sirius was casting by reflex and couldn't remember exactly what he cast, which means he couldn't defend himself effectively in court. When he escaped and he and Lupin turned over a living Pettigrew, his record was expunged, since he couldn't have killed Pettigrew and Pettigrew must have used the curse; if Sirius had used it and hit Pettigrew, there would have been no chance for the rat to escape in the first place.

**Auctor:** Oh, Sirius _really_ didn't want Jen to stay there! He acted the way he did because he realized that she had spent nearly nine years taking care of herself, and if she was anything like her parents, telling her "You're coming home right now, young lady!" would have done nothing but make her fight him every step of the way. Instead, he bribed her with a place in Hogwarts, money she doesn't have to sell her body for, and a large library for her to read through, since she had already revealed she was interested in learning enough to teach herself.

**Everyone who returned for this second chapter, welcome! From here on out, the story will _mostly _be from Jen's point of view, though I'll be bringing in others for when an outside perspective is best. You'll also find out how Jen gets around without her sight or any assistance (a hint, _magic_). Enjoy!**

**I forgot to mention last chapter, but as an American, most of what I know of Britishisms come from HP fanfiction. Therefore, feel free to correct me if I use a term incorrectly or use the American word.**

**Disclaimer:** Did Harry rely on the Weasley family as his one contact with Wizarding Britain? If so, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.

* * *

**Chapter 2  
****Grimmauld Place**

Yesterday had started off normal enough for the girl affectionately referred to as "Mama Jen". She had woken shortly after one as was her habit, a necessity considering she hadn't finished closing up the club until six in the morning. She had fed herself and Loki, and then 'read' one of her books until dusk, when it was time for her to begin preparing Candyland for the night's customers. Once open, she worked at the bar. All normal, all routine, until one Sirius Black came to call.

Jen shook her head as she gathered some of her books from the ground floor room farthest from the club entrance, one she had reorganized for storage. He was a very odd man, but his thoughts proved his sincerity. She smiled, _'stay out of people's minds'_ was probably the only ethical rule her tutor, Elsie, had demanded she follow, but she never did. There were just too many useful secrets she could sniff out that way, and no matter what the situation, knowledge was _power_.

She hefted the books in her arms before walking over to the three piles she had made on the room's table, jerking her head towards it as she moved. Another ten books lifted themselves from their shelves and followed her there. Once they were all settled, she took stock to ensure she had not left anything out.

Her clothing was the first pile. Two shirts, a jacket, her skirt, and a set of heels, along with the third shirt, jeans, and trainers she was currently wearing. _I __**really**__ need more clothes_, she thought, not for the first time. The club helped all the kids working there by providing room and board; after paying for utilities and groceries, there wasn't enough profit left for anyone to have a decent wage to purchase personal items, even clothes, since the owner took his cut from the gross income. _Thank goodness for cleaning charms._

The next pile consisted of a rolled up leather case and a pair of books, _Maji a ak Sprituèl nan Vodou_ and _Aktyèl la Bondye ki gen pouvwa_, both of which were nearly impossible to find, especially in the UK. The only store that would possibly have copies was one Elsie had mentioned resided in Knockturn Alley in London, but she could not recall the name.

She opened the case and felt each item inside: a few vials, some containing magical substances found only in Haiti; nine smooth river stones blessed by a priest of Baron Samedi; her bone ritual dagger; a foot-wide mirror shrunk to the size of a compact; and an enchanted silver flask. Once everything had been located, she swiftly rolled it back up. This was all she had to remember Elsie by, and even without the sentimental value, nothing was replaceable except the mirror and empty vials.

The last and largest pile was all the books she had obtained locally, if not exactly legally. She had needed the books to study from, but without the money to purchase them, her only recourse was theft. She had considered stealing other things, such as clothes, but taking one book at a time she could hide from prying eyes and law-enforcing hands; new clothes, not so much, and definitely not enough to provide for all the children.

Her collection had a diverse range of subjects, with Charms, Runes, and Potions mixed in with Calculus and Physics. She decided to leave most of the books on home repair and cooking in storage; she doubted she would need them in the magical side of Britain, and they would be more useful to the others here, especially since the owner was absolutely incapable of anything but spending their hard-earned cash.

"So it's true. You're leaving."

_Speak of the Devil and he shall appear_, Jen thought as she focused her attention onto her boss. Richard Hutchins did not look like a man who would be involved in the child sex trade; his brown hair and eyes and average height meant he was more likely to be completely ignored by all and sundry. He had tried once again to sneak up on her, had been doing so since she first met him. He was quiet enough that he likely would succeed if she weren't a witch, and a special one at that.

Jen, unlike all other magical humans, possessed no magical core in her soul. Oh, she had been born with one, but she had experienced tremendous difficulty resonating with and accessing it. Even numerous rituals, aiming at increasing the amount of available magic by enlarging its entire volume, had been ineffective. She eventually tired of fighting her own soul enough to attempt a dangerous procedure that sacrificed her core for a direct connection to the world's virtually infinite supply of magic, the reserve from which all witches and wizards drew the magic to replenish their cores. Failure would mean death, and the chances of success were so slim that there had never been a recorded survival. Until her.

Her integration into the global reserve radically altered how her body responded to the magic she channeled. Magic was everywhere, seemingly generated by all matter, and flowed through and around physical objects. Now that she was part of this greater magic, she was sensitive to these currents and had taught herself to interpret the changes in the flow, which were specific to different materials. In this way she used her expanded awareness as a form of sonar, allowing her to identify every object within several yards of her body in all directions. With this advantage, no one was able to approach her without her 'hearing' them and looking into their minds for their identities.

"Yes, Richard, I've been given a chance that I never expected would come. I have a rich godfather who was just recently released from prison, and he's invited me to live with him. I would be a fool to ignore the opportunity." She flicked her wrist and called a satchel to her. Placing her hand inside, she gently stretched the internal dimensions of the bag until she estimated it would be large enough to hold all her belongings. Wandless magic was incredibly inefficient, but as her output was limited not by how much magic she could store but the volume that she could safely channel at once, the waste was unnoticeable. "And forget about drugging me and telling him that I changed my mind and ran off, he can do the same things I can." _Well, he likely can't, but what Ricky doesn't know can't hurt him, or me._

He grimaced. "At least when you're gone I won't have to deal with all your mumbo jumbo. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you wiped those bobbies' minds, but it was still bloody creepy."

"If it would make you feel better, I could make you forget all about me," she said in a singsong. With one final gesture, everything she owned was in the bag and ready to go.

"No. I'll keep my mouth shut about you if you do the same for me, deal?" He extended his hand.

Jen laughed. "And what do I get out of this deal?" she asked, but shook his hand anyway. After all, nobody knows when they may need a favor from an old contact.

* * *

Sirius waited at the door of Candyland at five in the afternoon, just as he and his goddaughter had agreed upon the previous night. Honestly, he would have agreed to anything she requested if it meant she would leave this place, but all she asked was that he give her enough time to wake up and pack.

He sighed. The ease with which she agreed to live with someone who was essentially a stranger was distressing. Watching her last night, she seemed perfectly content with her position in the club; most people who enjoy what they do would be unwilling to leave everything and try something different. It was only as he tried to sleep that he realized what he was actually seeing. Jen had worked there, in some capacity, for he knew not how long. Was what he had seen not enjoyment, but just familiarity? He hoped so; had she not decided to accompany him, he would be sorely tempted to _Obliviate_ himself to remove the details of her _job_ from his mind's eye. It would have certainly prevented the nightmare he had suffered through the previous night.

Finally, she walked out the door, for the last time if he had anything to say about it. He was surprised, though, about how little she was carrying; when he had been forced into shopping with his cousins as a boy, they always had dozens of bags for each of them.

"Did you pack everything you wanted?" he asked. "If there's anything inside you need help with, we can go and get it."

"Space expansion charms, Sirius. Everything I have is right here." She gave the satchel a quick pat. "I just have someone to collect."

"Some… one?" He looked around nervously, they had not discussed bringing another person along. _Oh Merlin, please don't let her have a kid, I'm not old enough to be a grand-godfather!_

Jen gave a sharp whistle, assuaging some of his fears. That was an action wizards took with their owls, not their children. Since he was expecting an animal of some form, he was only slightly startled when a large raven landed on her shoulder. "And who is this?"

"Sirius, meet my familiar, Loki. Loki, this is my godfather." The newly identified Loki gave him a quick glance, croaked, then began preening her hair.

"Alright, then. If you're done, let's get out of here." He placed his hands on her upper arms and Apparated them to the foyer of the house. "Welcome to number 12, Grimmauld Place."

* * *

The moment they entered, Jen felt the magic of the old house push against her. As it sank deep into her body, she could actually feel the air in her lungs freezing, producing mist as she exhaled. Sirius's gasp confirmed that the sensation was not a trick of her mind. Magic this cold only existed in locations that had withstood generations of dark magic.

Not that she was uncomfortable. On the contrary, now that she had moved past the shock, the entire house was incredibly _alive!_ Her senses had expanded, covering the entire property. She even felt immensely strong barriers—_wards_, she realized, _**old**__ wards_—framing the boundary of her range. They were interconnected, fitting together like the puzzle box she had held when she first been employed at the brothel. An older boy named Anthony had demonstrated to her how it worked, teaching her to feel how the tiny plates had fit together so intricately. While she was not capable of manipulating the wards like she could that box, she knew she would get quite a show if they were ever activated.

"It's amazing," she finally whispered, still absorbed in comparing how different the magic danced and swirled here than it did in Avryporth. "When was it built?"

Sirius frowned, and she gleaned from his mind that he was worried about her reaction. She had not taken a step from where they had appeared, and he couldn't find what was causing such rapture. "I don't know the exact date. Blacks have lived in it for, four hundred years maybe."

"I love it. The magic of the house, I can feel it radiating from the walls, bending along the surface of the wards. I have never been anywhere as welcoming as this place!"

Ignoring her godfather's confusion and mental grumblings, she began walking through the hallway, curious about the spark of magic meandering down the stairwell. She knew what sparks like this were: they were cores, something every magical being had. Even Loki had one after Elsie had, _modified_, him a touch. She had never found one like this, though.

She and the spark both stopped at the foot of the stairs. _Strange_, she thought, _I can't look into its mind. What is it?_ "What are you?" _Sometimes the best thing to do is ask._

The spark hesitated a moment, and then answered in a gravely voice, "Kreacher is a house elf." He turned and muttered in a Shakespeare-worthy aside, "The crippled girl is talking to Kreacher, oh what would Mistress say, but the wards cling to her, Kreacher knows not why…"

Sirius marched over to her. "That's enough, Kreacher. Go to the guest bedrooms and start cleaning them. Jen is going to be living here from now on."

Kreacher gave a low bow that even _she_ knew was insincere. "As Master commands, Kreacher will do," he said, then continued in an undertone, "Master was an ungrateful brat when Mistress banished him from the house, and Master only grew to be a bigger disappointment, not fit to lick the slime from his mother's boots–"

"Krea–cher," she sang, "keep a civil tongue in your mouth, or you just might _looooose_ _iiiit_."

Now she had both Sirius's and Kreacher's attention. "Jen, what–?"

"The cripple is bold as Miss Bella, Kreacher goes to prepare the room, it being ready tomorrow…" With that, he turned around and climbed back up the stairway. Bemused, she faced Sirius.

"Were we supposed to hear that?"

He shrugged, but she could tell he was still staring at her. "Jen, why did you say that? You wouldn't have followed through on your threat, right?"

She rolled her eyes, not that he could see them, "I knew I wouldn't have to. This house is saturated in dark magic, and for that to happen, there has to be plenty of use of the Dark Arts. I have read that house elves are sensitive to the magic of their houses, so I responded to his behavior the same way a dark witch would. And what do you know, it _worked_."

He was quiet a moment, then sighed. "Well, Kreacher seems to have a plan for your bedroom, so you can put your things in any of the spare rooms for tonight, I think there's a clean one on the third floor. I need to make some calls, then we'll see what we can put together for dinner."

Dinner was pleasant, and though they spoke of nothing of importance that evening, it served to make them more at ease with each other. After Jen transfigured a perch for Loki and settled into bed that night, she thought, _pleasant company, no bills, rich magic; find me a lithe little bedwarmer and I could get used to this._

* * *

She Apparated into an alley close near the entrance to Grimmauld Place. Her Family Head had summoned her and she would comply, no matter how much she would rather be anywhere else this early in the morning. After Sirius had been found innocent and restricted to St. Mungo's, she had created any number of excuses to avoid visiting him. Would he hold that against her now that she would have to follow any orders he gave? And her sister, with whom she had not spoken to since their argument over her then-upcoming nuptials, would be there as well. This would not be pleasant for anyone; it was for the best that she forced her beloved child to stay at home rather than come along with her.

It was going to be a bad day no matter what, but last night had only made her dread the reunion even more. She had gone to that one Muggle club in Wales to find some release; she knew that her taste in sexual partners was despised in both worlds, but as long as she was discreet and did not visit too often, she would be safe from any repercussions. Once there, she had been unable to find the blind bartender who, even if too old for her now, had been such a sweet lover and was still a wonderful conversationalist, and a dear friend. The rest of the staff could only tell her that the girl in question had moved out that day to places unknown; the loss of her confidante had caused her such emotional turmoil that she had immediately returned to her home, no longer desiring physical pleasure.

She entered the Townhouse, avoiding that abominable troll leg and moving quietly to avoid waking Auntie Walburga's portrait. That woman had been a harpy in life, and her portrait was somehow _worse_. Sirius's message had said to meet in the sitting room, so that was where her feet directed her. She clamped down on her rising panic, smoothed her robes, and walked into the room. There on one loveseat was her sister with someone who was likely _her_ progeny, on a chair across the coffee table from them was Sirius, and sitting next to him was…

"Jen? What are you doing here?"

Sirius turned his attention first to her, then Jen. "You two know each other?"

"Of course," Jen said as she walked over and greeted her with a kiss on both cheeks. "She was my favorite client."

* * *

**I did warn you about the preference of one of the main characters. Now the question is, which Black Sister is it? The ambiguity is intentional.**

**Some of Kreacher's dialogue was paraphrased from OotP.**

**The portrayal of Voodoo used here is the stereotype of "Voodoo magic" from New Orleans and Hollywood, not the religion found primarily in Haiti. Since I am twisting it as I desire, please do not complain if you are knowledgable about it and want me to know I screwed something up; it was either a plot-relevant change or an aspect I chose to ignore (of which there are many). The titles of the two books are in Haitian Creole as provided by Google. Translations are below.**

Maji a ak Sprituèl nan Vodou—The Magic and Ritual of Voodoo

Aktyèl la Bondye ki gen pouvwa—The Currents of Power

**Their contents will be summarized in later chapters where they are referenced, _Maji_ in Year Five and _Aktyèl_ late in Year Four.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	3. Ancient and Most Deviant House of Black

**GrayTheBlueJay:** I'm proud of the "sonar" idea, myself. No idea where it came from, but it works, and that's what matters.

**EndGame666:** Thank you so much! I put a lot of work into the emotional aspect; exploring different characters' thoughts and motivations is part of the reason I like using POV changes. As for Jen being your favorite femHarry, now I just have to make sure I don't disappoint!

**Penny is wise:** There will be one instance—it looks like it will be next chapter—where she will give an example of the abuse she suffered at the Dursleys, but it isn't graphic, and you will _never_ read accounts of her work in the brothel because I refuse to write it. Other than that, I might—_might_, mind you—have a fairly detailed scene about her life between the Dursleys and Candyland, but that won't be for a long while; summer before fifth year, maybe?

**This chapter was my favorite to write so far. There isn't much darkness in this chapter; in fact, it's actually rather light-hearted. Some sex talk ahead, and I can almost guarantee you will never look at Sirius and Tonks the same way again.**

**Summary:** Did Harry ever use his money to buy a wardrobe that properly fit? If not, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.

* * *

**Chapter 3  
****The Ancient and Most _Deviant_ House of Black**

"_Jen? What are you doing here?"_

_Sirius turned his attention first to her, then Jen. "You two know each other?"_

"_Of course," Jen said as she walked over and greeted her with a kiss on both cheeks. "She was my favorite client."_

* * *

"NARCISSA ADARA BLACK! WHAT IN MERLIN'S NAME DID YOU DO!"

"It's Malfoy, has been for twenty-one years," she squeaked. Never had Sirius's voice sounded more like that of her father, Cygnus, or Great-Uncle Arcturus, the previous Black of Black. The fact that her mother had shouted those exact words more times than she cared to remember didn't help matters.

"Sirius! There is no cause for shouting," Jen chastised him. "It is perfectly fine."

Andromeda glanced between the three of them before placing her hand on her daughter's arm. "We're missing something, aren't we?"

Sirius turned away, obviously uncomfortable, and she gave Jen a begging look.

The girl sighed and explained, "I moved here yesterday; before that, I spent seven years working in a child brothel. That's where Cissy knows me from."

Narcissa's plea morphed into a glare. That was not how _she_ would have broken the news to her sister and niece.

"Cor, are you telling me that my aunt is a pedophile? That's just sick!"

Andromeda gave her daughter a look. "Yes, it is, but with your proclivities, you might want to keep your judgements to yourself." When the purple-haired woman made an inarticulate sound, she continued, "Dora, honey, you change gender _literally_ in mid-coitus. While not as bad as your aunt, it is still highly disturbing."

Dora sputtered. "How do you know that?"

"I'm not surprised you know about it, Andi," Sirius laughed, "after all, how many times did Uncle Cygnus and Aunt Druella discipline you for being a peeping tom?"

Now it was Andromeda that bristled. "I don't have to take that from a man who spent his late teens shagging every bitch dog in Hogsmeade! Did you ever discover which puppies were yours?"

"I was Padfoot at the time, it was fine!"

"You were still a wizard, so no, it wasn't!"

Jen by now was laughing so hard tears were streaming from under her blindfold. "Stop, please stop! I think I broke a rib!" After a few more moments, she managed to choke out, "Is there anyone in this house who isn't a deviant?"

"So says the whore," Dora lashed out. She had not wanted her personal life spread around, her mother had angered her by watching her most private moments, she was highly distraught from hearing what all her relatives got up to in bed, and she was not and had never been a sexual deviant!

Jen calmed down before affecting a haughty expression. "I prefer the term 'flesh peddler'." Four nearly identical snorts followed, and they all looked at their relatives in shock.

Narcissa started to giggle, when had a rollicking by her Head of Family become such a farce? "At least we no longer have to look Regulus in the eye, I always worried about exactly how close he and Kreacher were." This prompted more laughter from Jen, and Andi even joined in.

The elf in question looked into the room at the distantly familiar sound. He looked at each member of the family as he spoke, "The crippled girl's room is ready, she may enter when she—"

His eyes bulged, then broke out, "Miss Cissy? Miss Cissy is here!" He ran, threw himself onto her legs, and sobbed.

"Oh, Kreacher," she whispered. The elf was waspish, rude, and utterly devoted to Auntie Walburga, but she had still missed him fiercely. "Yes, I'm here, and I will be coming back and forth quite often from now on, so you will see me again."

"That remains to be seen," Sirius said firmly. Apparently the laughter had not been enough to dispel his anger with her.

She sighed. "Jen, why don't you follow Kreacher to move your things into your room. Andi and, Dora was it, could you go with her? I think Sirius would prefer to shout at me in private."

"Very well, Cissy," Jen acquiesced. "Sirius, at least be nice."

They both ignored Sirius's protests as she gathered the girl in a hug. "We're family now, Jen. Call me Auntie."

"Okay then, Aunt Cissy. Kreacher, lead us to my room, please."

"Of course, Miss Jen. Kreacher will show you and the blood traitors to your room." The foursome left, closing the door behind them.

"Stop the glares, Sirius, and say what you wish to say."

Sirius did exactly that. "I don't like that you had sex with Jen, and I _really_ don't like that you did so when she was just a child."

"I'm sorry about hiring her, but at the time I was under the belief that she was a Muggle."

"And?" Sirius asked. "What does it matter if you thought she was a Muggle?"

"Well, do you think I would have slept with her if I knew she was a witch? You should know I would never intentionally harm a child!"

Sirius was confused over what she was attempting to express. "What do you call patronizing Candyland if not harming children?"

"I'm not. Harming. _Children!_ Candyland is a Muggle club, no young witches or wizards should be there to begin with. All the staff are Muggles, where is the harm in visiting for some relaxation?"

"Right, so… Never mind, I don't follow you. Do what you want. Just, promise me you will avoid resuming your tryst with Jen."

Her gape made it clear how much his request affronted her. "Ignoring for the moment that she is both a witch and too old for me, Jen is a Black! How _dare_ you accuse me of being willing to hurt a member of this family!"

"Sorry, sorry!" He raised his hands in defense. "I had to make sure we understood each other." He paused before casting about for a safe conversation starter. "I haven't asked, but how is your son, Deneb, right?"

"His name is Draco and he is fine. A good boy, he…" Her words filled the awkward situation for several minutes until the door opened again, revealing a figure straight from their memories.

* * *

Jen walked with the two Tonkses up the stairs to her new room. She had not unpacked anything besides the shirt she had put on that morning, so she had needed only a moment to grab her satchel and Loki's perch before they continued on. She was curious where he had run off to, but not worried; it wasn't the first time he vanished for several days, nor would it be the last. He was not a pet, but both a wild animal and her familiar; he would come if she had need of him and take care of himself when she didn't.

She was slightly embarrassed by what Kreacher was muttering. He had no idea that they all heard how happy he was that _'Miss Jen is a proper Black'_ and how he looked forward to her _'replacing nasty Master'_, but _she_ did and carefully avoided looking at Dora's and Aunt Andi's faces.

That Andromeda wanted to be addressed in that fashion was mildly disconcerting, but Jen chalked it up to an unwritten rule of the Black family. In one of their afterglow conversations, Cissy had discussed how her parents had instilled in her the importance of family, putting it ahead of all else. As Sirius was her godfather and Cissy was now an unofficial aunt, perhaps Andi considered her a Black in fact if not name.

Once at the third floor, they followed the right-hand path down to the end of the hall. Andi gasped as she realized where they were.

"Are you all right, mum?"

"Yes, Dora, I just remember these rooms from when we, my sisters and I, would spend our summers visiting Uncle Orion and Walburga. We each had our own. Kreacher, which room did you renovate for Jen?"

Kreacher glared and was liable to resume his muttering if Jen had not interjected. "I'm curious as well." He quickly and happily returned his attention to her.

"Miss Jen is much like young Miss Bella, this room is best…" With that, he opened the door of the last bedroom and ushered them in.

The room was spartanly decorated, only containing a large bed and an antique roll top desk. When Dora pointed out the absence of a chair, Kreacher snapped his fingers and one appeared. "Kreacher took it from storage…" was all they could get for an explanation.

"Kreacher, I need some bookshelves," Jen said, "six feet tall, against the walls flanking the door." She tossed her satchel onto the bed and opened it while Kreacher was preparing them.

With a flick of her wrist, her books flew out of the bag, organizing on the shelves by subject. After them came her clothes, which folded themselves but stayed on the bed, and her ritual kit at last settled on the surface of the desk, the books making their way to one of the small nooks.

"Wow…" said Dora, eyes following the paths of the books. "You can use wandless magic?"

"I agree," Andi confirmed, "it is unusual for someone your age to be capable of using even one spell wandlessly, and most who are still use the motions. How much can you do without a wand?"

Jen smiled, she knew Elsie had been jealous of her abilities once the aftereffects of the core sacrifice ritual had settled. "I actually don't have one." She forced the smile to stay off her face and directed her magic onto the women's minds.

Everyone had a natural mental shield, and reading people's minds involved piercing that shield. Any strong emotion, in this case surprise, would weaken the shield slightly. This reaction was crucial as Jen knew there was a way to create additional, artificial shields to supplement the protection the shields offered, though she had never learned it; not only did the discipline tie a person's mind to their core, which she no longer had, the raw magic constantly running through her body reinforced her natural shields to such an extent that she was almost guaranteed to never encounter someone with enough magical strength to break through them. The reason she was peeking into their minds was simple: she would not feel secure in their company without an idea of where she stood with them.

It was good that she proceeded carefully. Andi was clearly trained in that defense, her shields were so thick and many that Jen would not be capable of catching even a stray thought while maintaining her air of nonchalance. She may call Andi 'Aunt', but she would keep track of this potential danger until there was enough evidence to reevaluate the situation.

Dora's natural shield was strong, but not enough to prevent Jen's entry. She had recently graduated from the Ministry's Auror Academy as the second in the class, and was the junior partner of one Kingsley Shacklebolt. Hufflepuff, class of '91. Metamorph, that was interesting. She held quite a bit of anger at her mother, whose marriage to her father planted a number of hurdles in her path if she wanted to advance in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. To her, Jen was a disabled cousin, one who needed a 'big sister' for guidance and protection; overall, not a threat. Making a last sweep, Jen discovered that the subject of Dora's utmost respect was not her mentor, one of her instructors, or either of her parents; it was instead a man named Albus Dumbledore. This oddity piqued her curiosity, and she delved deeper into Dora's mind as she made her way to the bedroom's closet.

Albus Dumbledore was the Headmaster of Hogwarts, though he also had important roles in Magical Britain's legislature/judiciary and the international political scene. He had also defeated a Dark Lord named Grindelwald during World War II and, in the seventies, fought against the most recent British Dark Lord, who no one had ever told her the name of. He was widely considered by the British to be the most powerful wizard in the world—considering what _she_ could do, that was likely baseless propaganda—and the Leader of the 'Light', the faceless masses that were better termed 'anti-Dark'. Dora had no first-hand information on him, most of what she 'knew' was based off of the man's reputation, so while Jen could not accurately label him, she would be cautious and consider him a potential threat as well until she had a face-to-face meeting.

She broke off her scan once she arrived at the closet. Focusing on the inside, she was amazed at both the sheer size of the room and how little free space there was. "Kreacher, whose clothes are these?" _They are certainly beautiful_, she thought, running her hand over a leather corset and silk dress combination, _I just might keep a few of them if Kreacher forgot to remove them_.

"These were Miss Bella's clothes, Miss Jen," he growled. He continued in an undertone, "they does not please Miss Jen, Kreacher be ironing his hands."

_Elves are quite odd_, she thought. "They are magnificent, thank you. You may go now, perhaps prepare us lunch in a few minutes."

With a bow, the house elf 'popped' away.

"Miss Bella's room, Miss Bella's clothes, what is he doing?" she asked Andi.

She shrugged. "I really don't know. Did he say anything to you about her before today?"

"No. Wait, yes he did, the last thing he said before he disappeared last night was that I was as bold as this Bella, whoever she is."

"That's why he's acting like he is, you obviously reminded him of my older sister Bellatrix. He adored her, almost as much as he did Walburga and Regulus, Sirius's mother and brother."

"What happened to her?" Jen turned from the closet to fully face Andi. "Is she dead?"

"As good as, she's serving a life sentence in Azkaban along with her husband and brother-in-law.

"Enough of this talk, why don't you change into one of those outfits. If Kreacher expects you to wear them, I suppose we won't need to take you shopping," she said with a glare to the few items on Jen's bed.

Jen was more than willing to do so; she had never had anything as nice as these. Throwing off her jeans and shirt, she grabbed the dress and pulled it over her head and down her body. She struggled with the laces for a moment before relenting. "Help, please?"

Andi walked over blushing, while Dora was facing away from them both. "I take it back, we do need to buy some knickers for you."

"Why? I've done without my entire life, I don't need them now." The dress now tightened, she stepped away from the closet. "How do I look?"

"Very nice, just… familiar. I'm sure Sirius and Narcissa will agree."

"Let's ask them, then."

* * *

Sirius stared. He knew Bellatrix was insanely clever, and recently plain insane, but how did she escape from Azkaban and de-age herself? With a quick shake of his head, he took a second glance and noticed the blindfold. _I know James has the Black hair, but no one expected his daughter to be a dead ringer for a fourteen year old Bellatrix._

"Bella?" Good, he wasn't the only one to notice the similarity. Narcissa was staring at Jen as if she had seen a ghost. _Which we did, if I think about it._

"Well, do you like it?" Her voice set her apart from the eldest of the Black Sisters; Bellatrix's screech couldn't compare to his goddaughter's musical tone.

"It's wonderful, Jen." Kreacher had been rooting through the old clothes, though if everything he gave her looked as good as this, he could be forgiven. The black dress set off her pale skin, while the silver ties made her look like a living incarnation of the family crest. If he remembered correctly, this had been Bellatrix's favorite when she was Jen's age.

"Thanks. Quite a lot more was in the closet, apparently Kreacher gave me Bella's old room and everything in it."

The doorbell rang, and Sirius was more than willing to greet whoever was out there and let Narcissa admire the nostalgic clothing. Once he opened the door, however, he wished he had stayed and listened to the girl talk.

"Can I help you, Lily?"

* * *

**Yeah, the Black family is fucked up. If you want a squicky addition, think about what Tonks's habits say about Remus! I said that one person would get away with her depravities, and it's because none of the Blacks has the moral high ground necessary to ostracize her, with the "family first" doctrine meaning they will tell no one of her crimes.**

**Obviously, I'm skipping teaching Jen Occlumency, partly because I don't want to force myself to talk about her "building her shields with daily meditation", and partly because I'm so tired of reading stories where Occlumency allows Harry to organize his mind to have perfect recall, stronger magic, a maze that mental attackers can be trapped in, and the ability to remember the name of the girl he's screwing at the moment out of his giant harem that includes every female student his age plus or minus one year, with a Veela three years older thrown in just because he's such a "nice guy".**

**As such, you have my explanation of Occlumency: it's for making more mental barriers. That's it. Now, Dumbledore, Snape, and Voldemort, and others _are_ capable of piercing her shields; the problem is that they would need to drain their entire cores for a moment's peek into her head. Unless they just want her surface thoughts, they are going to fall into magical exhaustion, with nothing to show for their attempts other than a very pissed off Jen.**

**I have never liked the term "Light", because the wizards and witches that fall under this banner have no clear goal other than the defeat of the rising Dark forces. Ergo, Jen may call them "anti-Dark" in her conversations.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	4. Faces from the Past

**PotatoLord1:** I'm fine with "interesting"; it's better than "trite and bland". Thank you for the compliment! As for the changes, take heart: the events in the first two and a half books proceeded almost the same as canon, with some minor exceptions which I will probably never bring up. This next year will resemble canon in some ways and won't in others, fifth year will have more changes, but years six and seven? Forget everything you know about them because we'll be going on a whole new ride.

**Honest Lunar Raven:** The length of your review brought a smile to my face! The Black family here is fun, and you'll see a lot of them as the story progresses. Sirius disagreed with his parents about the superiority of Purebloods over all others and about supporting Voldemort, but he still has a lot of the classic Black traits, not just the sexual weirdness. Wait and you'll find out more. Jen has them even more strongly than he does, and how she'll get on with Hermione…

With the way you described Occlumency in fanfiction, I have to wonder why you haven't published anything! As for the ritual, there are some benefits to having a magical core. She now has an extremely low resistance to magic cast on her, so spell effects last longer than normal unless she (or someone else) removes them. A strong Stunner, which should last hours, can keep her unconscious for _days_. Also, any potion that has to be ingested relies on the drinker's stored magic to work, so she is left with topical potions and healing spells when she gets injured; if she had her bones vanished like Harry did in canon, she would be screwed since Skelegrow is useless. There are a few other risks, and these are in addition to the fact that the description of the ritual makes anyone who attempts it more than a little suicidal.

How she survived… if you're thinking about the Horcrux, nope, that's not it. If it's something else you have in mind, then you are likely _very_ close, though I hope you'll be surprised by exactly how it's revealed.

**Auctor:** No, Andi's not a metamorph; I see that particular trait cropping up occasionally, mostly due to infusions of new magical blood (a la Ted and Lupin). Morphing takes effort, as shown in OotP and Teddy's limited changes in DH, so Tonks was _born_ a girl. Most likely. Your thought about how Ted and Andi raised her has now spawned a plot bunny, though. Damn it.

**Disclaimer:** Did Magical Britain ever recognize the contribution Lily Potter made to the first downfall of Voldemort? If not, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.

* * *

**Chapter 4  
****Faces from the Past**

"_Thanks. Quite a lot more was in the closet, apparently Kreacher gave me Bella's old room and everything in it."_

_The doorbell rang, and Sirius was more than willing to greet whoever was out there and let Narcissa admire the nostalgic clothing. Once he opened the door, however, he wished he had stayed and listened to the girl talk._

"_Can I help you, Lily?"_

* * *

If Sirius said that he doubted one of the Potters would eventually show up at his door, he would be lying. He had been at odds with them since their one—and only—meeting in St. Mungo's. Charles and Dorea Potter had taken him in after he ran away at sixteen, and he thought it was because they were willing to stand up for those that needed help but had nowhere else to turn. After hearing that James and Lily had thrown Jen away like so much rubbish, just like his parents would have done to him, he was now wondering if he had a home that summer because Dorea had drawn on her Black roots and offered shelter to family. It was either that or James had fallen so far from the morals of his youth as to no longer be worthy of being called their son.

So, while finding Lily here to talk to him was unfortunate, it was not unexpected. He felt he knew why she was here, as well. She wanted him to stop searching for Jen and instead spend his time training Daniel-the-Golden-Boy-Who-Lived.

"You can. Sirius, it's time you gave up trying to gain custody of Jenny. She's probably happier at Petunia's home, anyway."

_One for two_.

"Besides, you've been out of the hospital for a month and haven't visited Danny once. He wants to become closer to his godfather after all these years without you; don't you want to get to know him?"

_Can I call 'em or what?_

"Funny you should mention that last part, Lily. I'm sure my goddaughter would have liked to know her godfather growing up as well. Her father and mother, too, for that matter."

Lily sighed, this was obviously not working out as she hoped. "Sirius, we've explained why we gave her to Petunia. If she were with us, she would be constantly shunted to the side because she couldn't join in; in the Muggle world she's fine, she's happy, so _let it go_."

Sirius grinned, causing her to take a step back. It was not happy or even mocking, it was almost feral. "I love how you still believe that she's safe with your sister."

"She isn't?" Lily's voice—_it's strange how different Jen's is from either of her parents'_—was full of confusion, though he was happy to hear a note of fear creeping in. She gave her child to someone and made no effort to ensure her happiness; she and James deserved all the pain that could be heaped on them for that.

"No, she isn't. The Dursleys' was the first place I looked. She hasn't lived with them since she was five."

Lily stood there, frozen in shock for a moment, then leapt into action. "We have to find her, she could be anywhere!" She tried to run into the house, only to bounce off of him. "Sirius, let me in, we have to organize a search for her!"

"Sorry, Lily, I can't do that. I have company over." His smile by now was positively shark-like. "The family is _'getting to know'_ my goddaughter."

"You found her?" Sirius saw the relief in her expression but remained unmoved. He didn't know if the emotion was real or deception; the love she showed for Jen as an infant certainly revealed itself to be false. "Where, when?"

"Yes, Wales, day before yesterday. I believe that should take care of your questions, so I bid you good day." He moved to close the door, but her hand stopped it.

"You said you were introducing her to the family. Who, exactly?"

_Ah, one last chance to tweak her nose_. "She was with Narcissa Malfoy the last time I saw her." He slammed the door to, relishing the panic across her face. Drawing his wand, he cast a silencing charm to end the banging coming from the other side. With a spring in his step, he walked back to the sitting room, but before he could enter, his brain made sense of what he was hearing from inside.

"...that's the case, what do you propose we do about it? It's a rare talent; she should continue to develop it, not repress it."

Narcissa's words worried him; he entered the room and immediately spotted the sitting women. "What's going on?"

At Narcissa's prompting, Andi spoke. "I think Jen might be a Legilimens."

_What?_ Legilimency was a unusual talent, either restricted to members of certain families or discovered and homegrown by the rare innate Legilimens, almost always Muggleborns. _Jen's neither of those, so how would she learn it?_

"Why do you think that, Andi?"

"When we were looking around her room, I felt a brush on my Occlumency shields. It immediately withdrew, indicating someone who knows what they're doing. Dora hasn't learned how to do it and didn't appear to notice anything, and the only other person there was Jen, so…"

"Assuming that is the case," Narcissa said, "this is a good thing. I had planned on teaching her Occlumency, but if she uses Legilimency, I doubt I need to worry about it. Her shields are stronger than they would be if she only now started."

"I don't like it," interjected Andi. "She uses Legilimency, has powerful wandless magic, and yet she says she spent all her time with Muggles. This doesn't add up."

Narcissa whipped her head around to glare at her sister. "She doesn't _say_ she spent her time with Muggles, she _did_. I know that; I certainly saw her with them often enough."

Ignoring that reference to the woman's perversions, Sirius put himself in the middle of their little spat. "A witch tutored her for several years, she told me when I first met her," he elaborated to their questioning glances. "That's why I haven't locked her in a room with the first three year's textbooks to catch up for Hogwarts."

"Maybe she did, but Legilimency and wandless magics are not standard fare at _any_ school I've heard of, with good reason," Andi rebutted. "They are far too dangerous to be wielded by a teenager."

"And Jen uses them and is perfectly fine. Obviously there isn't an issue, Andromeda," Narcissa said, leaping to her feet. "Your concern is noted but unnecessary."

"Why don't we just ask her where she learned them," Sirius calmly suggested. _It's no wonder why these two ignored each other for almost twenty-one years_.

"Fine!" Narcissa snarled as she stomped out of the room. "She is in the library."

* * *

The library was only a few doors down from the sitting room, which Sirius had never been more thankful for than he was today. If these two did not reconcile soon, they would hold _another_ decades-long grudge.

They found the two girls in couches across from each other. Dora was sprawled out, frantically taking notes on some spare parchment from what looked like one of the many dueling texts the library contained. Jen was laying on her stomach, quite relaxed, running her fingers over the lines in another, much older book. He could read the title on the cover, _The Arte of the Succubus_, which was, if he remembered correctly, a primer on blood magic.

"Jen, we have some questions for you."

She nodded and summoning a scrap of parchment from Dora's pile to use as a bookmark. Sitting up, she placed the book on the table on the far end of the couch. "What kind of questions?"

"Your wandless magic," he decided to leave any mention of Legilimency for a private conversation; it wasn't _wrong_ to know or even to use it, but many people were twitchy about having others rummaging through their heads. _Speaking of that_, he thought, then raised his own shields. "Who taught it to you?"

Jen was still for a moment, then sighed. "I knew I would have to tell you eventually, I just hoped to avoid it a little longer.

"Her name was Elsie, and she was an old witch from Haiti. Her village accused her of using Voodoo; the officials there care more about punishing people than finding out if accusations are true or not."

Sirius understood. Voodoo was, to his knowledge, sacrificial magic. That type of magic, along with soul magic, necromancy, life alchemy, and a few others, were classified as the Black Arts. The ICW, American Confederacy of Magical States, and Asian Conglomerate all held even a single use of the Black Arts as punishable by death. If this Elsie had not fled her country, it was almost certain she would have been killed.

Before the creation of the Statute of Secrecy, those magics were much more common. In fact, the Black family had gained their name by at one point having the largest collection of necromancy texts and practitioners in Europe. It was also why the library still had books on blood and enslavement magics, both of which were borderline Black.

"After the Dursleys abandoned me in London, I spent a year living on the streets. She eventually found me, recognized that I was magical, and took me in. I assisted her in her work for several months before I took a job at Candyland.

"She wasn't highly educated, but she taught me everything she knew and encouraged me to learn anything else that caught my fancy. When she realized that I simply couldn't use a wand, she showed me what little she knew of wandless magic. She passed away last year."

"We are sorry for your loss," Andi said gently. "You said you helped her, what was it that she did?"

"She was a folk healer, selling salves and potions to people who couldn't make their own and didn't have the money to pay for St. Mungo's."

"And did she also teach you _Occlumency?_" Narcissa asked.

Jen caught the subtle undertones. "Yes, she was paranoid and constantly moved around to keep ahead of anyone who had pursued her to Britain. She wanted me to be able to spot them and keep her location a secret."

"Did she teach you any more, unorthodox, magic?" Considering she had mastered wandless magic and Legilimency by fourteen, _anything_ was possible. Sirius wanted to know what other surprises she had up her currently missing sleeves.

"Just a few things. Teleporting, flying, scrying, and shapeshifting."

_Teleporting is probably Apparation, and no child of James would be unable to fly a broom. I have no idea what scrying is, but shapeshifting…_

"By shapeshifting, do you mean you're an Animagus?"

Jen shook her head. "I don't know that word."

"It means you can become an animal." He turned into Padfoot.

She smirked. "Oh, you mean like this?" She then changed into a small black cat with milky eyes.

"Awww!" Dora squealed and picked her up from her couch. "You're so _cute!_ But I'm confused, what's scrying?"

"It's a type of Divination," said Andi, "allowing someone to watch events occurring in another location through any reflective surface, like a mirror or a bowl of water. Scrying is the only form that is universally considered valid, mostly because anyone, not just Seers, can use it."

"Then why haven't I ever heard of it?"

"Because it is _very_ difficult," Jen said after leaping from Dora's arms and returning to human form. "You have to pour magic into the reflection without using a wand, though it's a wonderful tool for training wandless magic; that's why Elsie taught it to me. It's also the only way I can see again like I used to."

_That_ took Dora by surprise. "What do you mean, like you used to?"

"I thought it was obvious. I was not born blind, I'm like this due to an accident."

"What happened?"

"My aunt and uncle didn't like me very much," she began, "so they forced me to do all the chores around the house while they spoiled their son Dudley. I was using a bucket of bleach to clean the laundry room floor when he ran over and kicked it into my face; that was the first time I ever heard him be scolded. I spent the next couple of days in agony since they wouldn't take me to the doctor. By the time I felt better, the bleach had burned my eyes so badly I couldn't see. I've been blind ever since." Jen grunted as Dora wrapped her in a suffocating hug.

"That's horrible! Why were you there at all?" Narcissa moaned.

"I forgot, you arrived after we discussed that," Andi said. "Petunia Dursley is Lily Potter's Muggle sister. _Apparently_, the Potters think Jen is a Squib." She scoffed. "Like a Squib could use wandless magic or become an Animagus."

Jen shrugged. "It doesn't bother me, I'm used to not belonging anywhere."

Dora hugged her tighter, and Padfoot walked over and covered her feet like a giant fluffy blanket. The sisters looked at one another and joined the group cuddle on the couch.

"Don't worry about that anymore," whispered Narcissa in her ear, "you belong here with us. Welcome home."

* * *

**Sirius has a bit of a temper; we see it in OotP when he throws Kreacher out of the house, and I think the whole send-Snape-to-the-Shrieking-Shack as a student was also something he did in anger. When he's lashing out, not only does he not think about what the long term consequences of his actions are, he also shows another Black family trait: sadism. When someone pisses off a Black, the family makes them regret it and _beg_ for death. Do you really expect anything else from people with their reputation?**

**Mind-reading vs. Legilimency: Snape says that they aren't the same thing, but neglects to explain how. Personally, I always found the term "mind-reading" to be ill-defined by itself; is it eavesdropping on the target's thoughts, examining memories, duplicating learned skills? With Legilimency being equally nebulous, I've decided that a wizard used Legilimency on a Muggle with strong natural mental shields, who felt what happened to him and created the idea of "mind-reading". Snape in canon is shown using it to look for memories, but fanon's wandless "passive Legilimency" can be used to hear surface thoughts. Raised primarily in the Muggle world, Jen will use the term "mind-reading" for a while, and since she doesn't need a wand, she does not recognize a difference in the active and passive forms.**

**Yes, Elsie _was_ a Voodoo witch. Yes, so is Jen. No, she isn't going to reveal that to anyone soon, and definitely not to someone she doesn't trust unreservedly. No, when she flies, she takes more after her mother than her father. And no, she isn't an Animagus; Sirius can _only_ turn into Padfoot, Jen turned into a cat just as a demonstration.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	5. Parent-Teacher Conference

**Honest Lunar Raven:** The Dursleys hated Jen more than than their canon versions did Harry because here, her parents were alive and, to their knowledge, just decided to dump the problem in their "normal" laps, hence the blinding. The idea of magical poisoning has never occurred to me; in fact, I can't think of any stories that feature that scenario.

Voodoo in this story, like in real life, is an amalgamation from lots of different sources. So expect to see a doll or two, blood prices, and maybe a few rituals here and there. Honestly, though it's part of her skill set, I'm still not sure how often it's going to show up. It is much like a nuclear weapon: extremely powerful, but there just aren't a lot of situations where its usefulness will outweigh the risks. I already know the first use, though, and it's kind of obvious when you think about it. Let's see how similar our minds work : P

**Kythorian:** I'm going to be honest with you for a moment. I downplayed the confrontation between them for two reasons: first, I didn't think about having him bring up those points, quite frankly : ( They certainly would have made the confrontation longer, and there would have been much screaming and crying. Second, there is someone who I plan to pit Sirius against several times, and Lily is not quite it. If anything, her main antagonist is going to be her own daughter, and that will _not_ be pretty.

Glad you liked chapter 3. I'm a huge fan of black humor, and that just tickled me like you wouldn't believe. Amen to tossing out Occlumency! Voodoo… it's pretty cool, but unfortunately she won't use it much. If she pulled out her kit for every little thing, she would become the boring god!Harry. Or she'd get killed in prep. Either way, not the best story.

**Disclaimer:** Did Harry take the easiest courses simply because the red-haired barnacle did? If so, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.

* * *

**Chapter 5  
****Parent-Teacher Conference**

In the week following Jen's acceptance into the Black family, life in 12 Grimmauld Place found a stable routine. She and Sirius would wake early in the morning and walk together to breakfast, which was made by the increasingly affable—to Jen—Kreacher. Afterwards, they would split and go to their separate callings: Jen to the library, where she truly _devoured_ books on seemingly every subject contained therein; Sirius to the Head's study, which daily threatened to overwhelm him with paperwork related to family investments and the House's seat in the Wizengamot. Around one in the afternoon, Jen would fetch him from the room for lunch. At this time, Narcissa arrived from Malfoy Manor via Floo to join them for the rest of the day.

Lunch would generally be fairly pleasant, and Jen and Sirius would again depart to their respective domains. Some days Narcissa would go with Jen, and Sirius could hear laughter constantly ringing through the house; on others, she would retire to the study with him and lend what assistance she could. During these work sessions they would discuss many topics, and after they ruled any talk of her sexual partners and his experiences in Azkaban off-limits, they found a camaraderie of sorts developing between them, despite their differing political views and the gulf that had existed their entire childhoods due to the half-decade between them. Sirius had even come to the point that he was willing to call her by her nickname, something he had not done once in the entire 34 years he had been alive. They accomplished so much in their afternoons together that by the end of the week, he joked that he was going to use his position as her head of family to force her to be his assistant. Strangely, she no longer considered that the torture she first would have.

Once all the work was done, he, Jen, and occasionally Cissy would have a light dinner and discuss whatever crossed their minds. Though his goddaughter was still irritatingly tight-lipped about her past, he learned enough to understand her as she was now, even if he never found out how she got there.

* * *

The weekend had upon them, and Jen knew Sirius was planning something. She knew not what, but the excitement leaked through his Occlumency shields and put her on guard. In the time they had spent together, she knew what he was like before unleashing a prank, and the clues she was finding were very similar to that. Her suspicions were confirmed when she was banished from the drawing room for the morning, and then passed Andi on her way to the library. Even Kreacher refused to tell her what was in the works; on Cissy's orders, she discovered.

Once in the library, she noticed the letter Sirius had given her the first time they met laying on 'her' couch. Picking it up, she opened the envelope and pulled out the actual letter. She put one of her fingers on the surface and felt down the left side until she came to a series of indentations consistent with the scratching of a pen. She focused some magic into the words written there and 'listened'.

"_Dear Ms. Potter,"_ a droning 'voice' said, _"We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into the fourth year of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September first. Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress."_

"Interesting," Jen muttered. For all that Sirius had done for her, there was still a part of her mind that doubted he would be able to get her into Hogwarts. Her fears had apparently been groundless. She felt the second sheet of parchment and decided to deal with it once she went shopping for her supplies. Setting it on the table, she returned to the book she was currently reading, a discourse on Veela from 1830, written by Bellatrix Black, sixteenth of the name.

It was around ten when Cissy knocked on the open library door. "Jen, we need you in the drawing room."

"Are you going to tell me _now_ what it is you three are plotting?" She whined. She _did_ _not_ like people keeping secrets from her; they tended to come back and bite her on her cute little ass.

Cissy smirked. "I think it will all be clear to you once you're there."

Sighing, she walked with her adoptive aunt to the room. She hadn't minded being banned from entering; they had not used it the entire week she had been here. As Sirius explained it, the drawing room was for guests, the sitting room was for the family.

The doors were closed, but through her connection to the wards, Jen had felt five people and a house elf hide in wait for her. She knew that three of the people were Sirius, Andi, and Dora, but the other two had come through the Floo connection; one with Andi and Dora, the other just a minute ago. Tightening her hold on the magic running through her body, she affected a calm mien and opened the doors.

"Happy Birthday!" yelled several voices and, even as she had prepared for a fight, the shouts still startled her. She was not happy when she heard laughter and comments on the height of her jump coming from the various members of her family.

"Oh yes, that's nice, pick on the blind girl," she snapped, which cut off the laughter from two sources and simply increased the volume of the other four. "At least Kreacher's on my side."

"Miss Jen is blind, yes, but Miss does not need to see. Miss is more gracey than smelly-dog Master," the elf said, and oddly did not follow this with a disparaging comment under his breath.

Sirius walked over and dragged her into the room. "Jen, there are a couple of people you need to meet. The first is Ted Tonks, Andi's husband and the Black family's new solicitor."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Dromeda and Dora have told me quite a bit about you." Ted spoke with a light voice, and, like his wife, had thick shields.

"Mostly good, I hope," she returned, and smiled at his laugh. She turned to Andi and mouthed "Dromeda?" Andi shrugged, and she grinned wickedly at the heat coming from her aunt's cheeks.

"And this," Sirius continued, "is someone you will become very familiar with, Hogwarts's Deputy Headmistress and Transfiguration Professor, Minerva McGonagall. She's here to test if you know enough magic to advance to the same year as the other students your age."

"Hello, Ms. Potter—"

"Black."

"I'm sorry?" the professor asked.

"It's not Potter, it's Black." Jen had been thinking over the issue and had spoken with Cissy a few times concerning her birth parents and Sirius's offer. This was certainly a sudden manner of acceptance, but he deserved a shock after the way he had laughed at her.

"Very well then, Ms. Black, I have just a few tasks for you to perform. May I see your wand to ensure that it is in good working order before we begin?"

_They obviously haven't told her much_, she thought. "I do not possess a wand, Professor. I have no need of one."

"Oh." This caught McGonagall off-guard. "I see. Could you first freeze the water inside this for me, and then levitate it." She pushed a goblet forward.

Jen raised a hand and tapped the side of the goblet; the water immediately froze, and she then flicked her fingers to lift the block.

"I meant levitate the _goblet_, Ms. Black, not the ice by itself." Another finger flick had the cup orbiting the ice.

McGonagall gave an exasperated sigh. "I see you are just as dramatic as your godfather. Next," she conjured a turtle with a flourish of her wand, "transfigure this turtle into a teapot."

Jen rested her hand upon the animal, and it obediently transformed into the pot.

"Hmm, if we were in class, I would have to deduct points for retaining the original coloration—" She fell silent as, with a slight application of will, Jen pictured the color white in her mind and imposed it on the teapot.

"Please keep in mind, Professor, that I cannot see. It would be best if you specified a single color for any future assessments."

McGonagall was silent a moment, and she heard Sirius whisper, "Don't worry about it, we've learned to just accept it and move on. She's as hard-headed as anyone else in the room."

The professor straightened in her chair. "Well, that is the third year Charms and Transfiguration tasks completed; since Professors Spout and Snape neglected to report any exercises, we will finish with Defense Against the Dark Arts." A wave of the wand vanished the teapot, and another conjured a standing human dummy. "Please demonstrate the _Stupefy_ and _Incarcerous_ hexes."

Jen frowned, she did not recognize the terms McGonagall used and assumed they were the incantations; the way she worked her magic, she had never needed or learned those. "Would you describe the effects of those two spells for me?"

"You do not know them?"

"I possibly do, but I was not taught Latin incantations. As such, the names you used mean nothing to me."

There was a huff from the professor and a stifled giggle from Dora's direction. "_Stupefy_ renders the target unconscious, _Incarcerous_ binds it."

She nodded, then aligned her will to direct her magic in such a way. A flick of the wrist launched her restraints at the target, and when it connected, there was a pulse of magic. Having accomplished her task, she returned her attention to McGonagall.

"That… was not exactly what I requested. I wished the Stunning hex to be separate from and before the Restraining spell, not infusing the bindings. And, quite frankly, I'm not at all sure what you used instead of rope," the older woman said, examining the metal wire and hissing sharply when she sliced her finger on one of the many blades it was festooned with.

"Professor," interjected Ted, "it's a Muggle material called razor wire. If Jen used it on someone, it would not only bind them, but also cut them in multiple places. As a restraint, it's far more effective than rope."

"I see," she said, "you are more familiar with this object, so I will accept it as a suitable replacement. Ms. Black, you have a tentative acceptance into the fourth year classes. You will meet with your Head of House every month during the first term to ensure you are not experiencing unreasonable difficulties.

"There is the matter of your electives to determine. You have five choices, from which you may choose two or three: Ancient Runes, the translation and, later, practical application of the various runic languages used to accomplish magical feats without a wand or potion; Arithmancy, the characterization of magic through numbers; Care of Magical Creatures, which is exactly how it sounds; Divination, the prediction of the future; and Muggle Studies, where you will examine Muggle culture and objects.

"If I might give some advice…" she waited for Jen's nod. "You have lived your entire life in the Muggle world, so Muggle Studies would be a waste of your time, especially as taking the OWL in that course does not require attending the class. Divination is an extremely… _inaccurate_ discipline, so it would perhaps be best if, like Muggle Studies, you ignore that option and study it on your own time only if you wish to take the exam.

"Care covers each creature independently, so you would not be behind the other students when you begin. The same is true of Ancient Runes, with each year dedicated to a different language. The first year of Arithmancy is meant for the students to learn mathematical manipulation; when I explained your circumstances, Professor Vector told me that you would require a background in Aljibbera."

Jen tried very hard to stifle her laughter. "I think you mean _Algebra_, Professor. Which language did the Runes class cover last year?"

"Futhark, I believe; this year they will learn Ogham."

"Wonderful," she said, "I would like Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, I should be at the same level as the other students in those classes."

Sirius grimaced, "Of _course_ you would choose the two most difficult electives they offer."

"Sirius, stay here and fill out the rest of the parchmentwork with Professor McGonagall. Dora, don't you have to get to work?" At her mother's reminder, the now white-haired woman yelped and ran over to the Floo. "We'll be back down for lunch, and then we should go ahead and run over to Diagon Alley for her school supplies." She grabbed one of Jen's arms while Cissy grabbed the other, then the Black Sisters frogmarched her out of the room.

* * *

Lunch passed quickly, then the four Blacks reassembled in the drawing room, Ted having also departed back to his firm. Sirius decided to have a quick lesson before their departure.

"Alright, Jen, have you ever used Floo powder?" At her shaking head, he continued, "It's not the most comfortable or easiest manner of travel, but since Diagon Alley is under anti-Apparation wards, this is the fastest. What you have to do is think about the address you want to travel to and throw the powder into the fire. Walk into the fire, and, this is the important part, speak the address _while still walking_. It's important that you don't stop, otherwise you're going to be thrown out of the fireplace you're traveling to. You will feel like you're spinning and you might even be nauseous, but _don't stop walking_. Understand?"

"Yes, Sirius."

He nodded. "Good. I'll go first, then Cissy, then you. Andi will bring up the rear. Everyone clear, good." Without waiting for a response, he grabbed a handful of Floo powder from a shallow bowl on the mantel, tossed it into the fireplace, and entered the flames with a _whoosh_, calling out _'Leaky Cauldron'_.

Jen watched Cissy do the same, and, with a shiver, followed her godfather and aunt. It was not as bad as they had her believe, in fact she felt completely still apart from a falling sensation. The worst part was easily the sound of rushing wind and total lack of her magical sense. A second _whoosh_ heralded the return of sound, and she moved to join her family just as Andi arrived at their location.

"Good, your godfather was worried you would become lost," Cissy said after she saw Jen. "He has distrusted the Floo since he accidentally missed his grate when he was six and ended up in the Russian Embassy."

Ignoring said man's growls, she continued, "As it is a Sunday afternoon, we only have a few short hours before the stores close, so we shall divide the tasks between us. Andromeda, would you be willing to attend to the apothecary and purchase the necessary ingredients?" Andi nodded. "Excellent. Sirius, go to Gringotts and have two money bags filled. You can meet with my sister at the apothecary to give her one and then come to Madam Malkin's where Jen and I will be to pay for the robes. Jen, you will then go with Andromeda to the bookstore before joining Sirius to get a wand." She cut off the girl's protests. "I know you do not need one, but one properly matched to you may, in fact, aid your magic. If nothing else, you will avoid standing out further.

"Everyone knows what they are doing first, any questions? No? Good, let us begin." With those final words, their general set out for the entrance to the alley.

* * *

**The words of the letter come almost directly from _"Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone"_, first American edition. I took out the part about sending the acceptance owl and added the part about fourth year. I figured that the Hogwarts Quill probably has a form letter it uses, so the letters will be similar for all years.**

**Now you know how Jen gets information from her books. The 'voice' she hears is generally the author's voice if the text is handwritten, the printer's voice if a manual printing press is used, or a dull drone if it was created by an automated process, like all her math and science books were.**

**None of the electives were explained in canon except for Care and Divination, so you get my take on them. The way I envision it, Voodoo requires runic diagrams, so she is familiar with Futhark, and she's already self-studying _Calculus_, so simple Algebra is not going to be an issue.**

**Yes, Cissy's a serious shopper; what else is she going to do all day while her son is at school and her husband is at the Ministry? I get _really_ tired of reading about a shopping trip to Diagon, especially when Harry buys basically the same thing in every story, so here Jen's getting passed around like a soccer ball. After all, she only needs to be present to give her input on her clothes and books, and of course search for a wand…**

**Silently Watches out.**


	6. Shopping Spree

**Honest Lunar Raven:** Yeah, I've seen that explanation too, and it never made sense. In Bobmin's _Power of the Press_, though, his power causes problems with both Floo and Portkeys, which leads to a rather humorous international Apparation mishap.

The Dursleys likely would accept a Squib into their home, but Jen wasn't a Squib. She had accidental magic, it was just less active and she had trouble intentionally connecting with it. I'm glad to serve as a sounding board, especially as your reviews allow me to consider new facets of my story. There's one scene on the train that is directly attributable to you, in fact.

How would a GoF story be interesting with her on the sidelines? That said, the fact that you found over 20 deviation points is extremely impressive. As for her reactions to wands, based on your words I believe you'll enjoy it.

**EXpertUS:** Minerva always struck me as stoic, so we only see a fraction of the emotion she's actually feeling. She didn't even _recognize_ the razor wire, so she only knows that it will cut. Much like the rest of the Wizarding World, she doesn't consider all the different ways you can cripple/kill people. Jen's wand… you'll see, but realize that no matter what happens, she has two Slytherin aunts to help her blend in.

**This is a bit longer than I had planned, so I cut some of the third scene to end it sooner; honestly, I think it's an improvement. It helped that I was _not_ going write another chapter on them shopping. Here, Jen shows once again how different she is, and even makes a friend (maybe)!**

**Disclaimer:** Did Harry ever have clothes that fit him? If not, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.

* * *

**Chapter 6  
****Shopping Spree**

_Ignoring said man's growls, she continued, "As it is a Sunday afternoon, we only have a few short hours before the stores close, so we shall divide the tasks between us. Andromeda, would you be willing to attend to the apothecary and purchase the necessary ingredients?" Andi nodded. "Excellent. Sirius, go to Gringotts and have two money bags filled. You can meet with my sister at the apothecary to give her one and then come to Madam Malkin's where Jen and I will be to pay for the robes. Jen, you will then go with Andromeda to the bookstore before joining Sirius to get a wand." She cut off the girl's protests. "I know you do not need one, but one properly matched to you may, in fact, aid your magic. If nothing else, you will avoid standing out further._

"_Everyone knows what they are doing first, any questions? No? Good, let us begin." With those final words, their general set out for the entrance to the alley._

* * *

Jen followed her adopted aunt out the backdoor of the dingy pub and into a short alleyway. Taking a moment to examine their new location, she noticed magic was flowing along the surface of the brick wall ahead of them and into a small 'hole'. Moving closer, she realized the hole was actually a tunnel leading to the other side.

Cissy drew her wand and tapped the brick in which the hole was located, and Jen felt the wall in astonishment as it expanded, magic spiraling into it even as the bricks rotated away, forming an archway leading to a cobblestone road. She began speaking again as they walked under the arch. "This is Diagon Alley. We will return again another day to give you an opportunity to explore, but for now we have a deadline. Sirius, Andi, you have your duties." The two nodded and moved toward a large building at one end of the Alley. "Our destination, my dear, is in the other direction." They matched their actions to her words and began walking to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.

"If you desire clothes other than my sister's old things, we can go to Twilfit and Tattings for more formal wear later; I know we will need to in order to purchase the dress robes your supply list mentioned."

"Why?" Jen asked. "Many of Bella's clothes fit me, so why wouldn't I be able to use one of her dress robes as well?"

"More expensive clothing, like a high-quality dress robe, has numerous spells on it, such as weather sensitive warming and cooling charms, self-cleaning spells, and theft-protection," explained Cissy as she opened the door to Malkin's store. "That last spell synchronizes with the magic of the first person to wear the article, preventing all others from donning it. It is useful for clothing that one does not wish to lose, but it makes passing them on nearly impossible. Ah, Isabel, a pleasure to see you again."

The short, squat witch who was hustling over to them gave an awkward curtsey. "You as well, Madam Malfoy, and who is this?"

Cissy placed her hand on Jen's shoulder, "This is my niece, Jennifer Black. She is in need of a full set of Hogwarts robes; silk, of course."

"Of course. There is another young lady being fitted here as well, right inside." The trio moved into the fitting room, where she took her position on the platform adjacent to the one the other girl was on. A quick peek into her aunt's thoughts revealed her appreciation of the girl's chestnut hair and slim figure.

"Auntie, I am in need of additional footwear; would you be willing to look over the selection here?" she said, but she also sent another message directly to the front of Cissy's mind.

"_The girl is nervous, I believe it's your presence. She will have information more current than your or Sirius's memories and likely less biased than Draco's griping."_

Cissy was surprised by the exchange, but swiftly restored her expression to one of entitlement. "Yes, if it will prevent you from spending two additional hours as you did the last time we went shopping."

"_Very well, but I expect a summary when we return home"_ was the message Jen picked up.

"Auntie," she whined, "it was only one time!"

Cissy smirked as she departed. "One time more than I wanted to suffer through, as well."

Jen huffed, then turned her attention to the girl. "I'm sorry about her. She forgets that she acts exactly the same way when _she_ wants something."

"Oh, don't worry, I understand. My cousin is the same way," laughed the girl, before offering her hand. "I'm Tracey Davis."

"Jen Black." They shook, then withdrew to their platforms. "Are you a student at Hogwarts?"

"Yes, I am, fourth year Slytherin. What about you, I haven't seen you before."

"I was privately tutored. It was best that I did not attend until my _circumstances_," she moved some of the hair concealing her blindfold, "would no longer be a hindrance."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I meant no offense," mumbled Tracey.

She laughed. "None taken, though I suppose you could still make it up to me." Tracey pursed her lips in worry, so Jen quickly reassured her, "Nothing onerous, but I do have questions you would be able to answer."

A cursory scan picked up Tracey's relief, so she continued. "I have heard tales about the four Houses and their founders, but what are they like today?"

"Sniveling cowards, reckless fools, isolated bookworms, and arrogant brats," Tracey said angrily. "There are some decent individuals in each House, I suppose, but overall, it is a good summary. The Hufflepuffs are quick to rally around an injured party, but only if that person is also a badger and whoever caused the situation is long gone. Gryffindors portray themselves as noble heroes, but they share the same prejudices as everyone else. It doesn't help their egos that there have been several dangerous situations in the school that were resolved by their Golden Boy, Danny Potter. Ravenclaws spend all their time in the library or their tower, and aside from a few rare exceptions, they have little to do with anyone else in the school. They don't even get along with each other; from what I hear, friendships can end over something as stupid as who received more points in class!

"As for Slytherins, they are closest to Ravenclaws in how they act. But in the Snake Pit, it isn't what you know, but _who_ you know that matters. Alliances form and break apart every day based on who has the most influence at the moment. Of course, most of that influence is based on who throws around the most money. They are also the worst in believing that blood purity crap."

"I take it you don't," Jen pushed gently, following the stream of memories in Tracey's mind, many of which showed her being bullied by her housemates.

Tracey growled out, "No, I don't. My father was a Pureblood and a near-Squib who married a muggleborn. I'm fourteen and can out-duel and out-think any member of my family, but because I'm a _'disgusting half-blood'_, they treat me like I'm some blight on their history. I thought Hogwarts would be better, but when the Sorting Hat put me in Slytherin due to my ambition to show up all my family for their attitudes, it was exactly the same as home. The only person who voluntarily talks to me without insulting me is Daphne Greengrass, and _that_ is only because her family has a lot of history with mine, and I'm the heiress. If it weren't for her family forcing her to, she wouldn't stick around."

Jen frowned, Andi and Cissy had remembered their time in Slytherin more fondly, but as the Black Sisters, they would have been at the top of the social hierarchy; Tracey was at the bottom of the pile. Something the girl said stuck out, though: prestige was determined by the power of an individual's connections. Sirius had spent the six months he was in mandatory bed rest drafting arguments and proposals for the Wizengamot, and had, amazingly, completely recouped in that time the political power the house of Black had lost over the preceding dozen years. As his goddaughter, _she_ would be a powerful connection, one that Tracey could use to advance herself in Slytherin, likely not to the highest position, but certainly at least in the middle, a huge improvement over where she was now.

"You say that Greengrass spends time with you solely due to familial obligations, but do you consider her just a reluctant ally, or do you think she wants to be a friend?"

"Ally," Tracey said without hesitation, "she has made her distaste for my parentage and personality _extremely_ clear over the past few years. Why do you ask?"

"I will be entering Hogwarts three years late; everyone has already formed stable friendships or, at least, mutually beneficial relationships. If I want to integrate into that environment, I need information; who's doing what where and why."

Tracey interjected, "Blackmail, you mean."

"Only if necessary; I would much prefer having people enjoy my company rather than tolerate it. One lesson I learned early and well, _'respect is more profitable than fear'_. It helps that I do not want to rule Hogwarts's social scene, simply have a comfortable place. What does the Davis family do, exactly?"

The _non sequitur_ disoriented Tracey for a moment, but she soon answered, "Shipping, mostly. We and the Carrows are the only families that don't have to pay tariffs on imports, but since neither Amycus and Alecto Carrow have children and are both in Azkaban, the Davis family will soon have an advantage over all other families in that business. Why did you want to know?" she asked as she unconsciously dispelled the light compulsion Jen had placed with her question.

"I can offer you two things. First, a connection with the Black's heiress apparent would drastically increase your social standing. Second, my family has stakes in many business, some of which are in constant need of materials that cannot be raised, grown, or manufactured here in Britain; therefore, the Davis business, which you have implied you will eventually control, will have a wealthy and steady partner. In return, I want you to supply information on the power players of Hogwarts and provide your company."

"My company?"

Jen smiled, "Yes, your company. I, too, have no friends, at least none my age who are also magical. The way I see it, why should we not solve our loneliness problems at the same time?"

Tracey pondered for a minute, during which Jen subtly distorted and partially erased their conversation from Madam Malkin's mind. Finally, the Slytherin smiled back. "Friends?"

"Friends."

* * *

Tracey left Madam Malkin's around the same time Sirius and Andi entered, and the four followed shortly after. Though she knew their exchange was a ploy, Cissy had in fact found some boots for the two of them. Having spoken to Andi much less than her sister, Jen found the conversation between them during their walk to Flourish and Blot's slightly stilted, but not exactly uncomfortable.

"Will you need assistance finding your books, or shall we split the list between us?" Andi asked once they had arrived.

Jen's quirked eyebrow should have been answer enough. She began walking toward one side of the store, and called out, "The books for potions, runes, and arithmancy are this way. You can take the others," before searching for her texts.

She would have had much more difficulty had there not been carved signs hanging over the rows announcing which subjects they contained. It was close, but her 'sonar' was developed enough to just make out what the signs said. In fact, her primary difficulty was keeping herself from taking every book that caught her attention. She had found all her required books and was debating the merit of also selecting some supplementary material when someone took advantage of her lack of attention to the surroundings to shove her into the bookcase.

"Who the bloody hell?" she shouted as she pulled herself to her feet. The 'who' in question were two boys who were more concerned with their race to the Quidditch section than in looking where they were going. A woman, possibly their mother, came over and started to apologize.

"I'm so sorry about that, my son forgets his manners more often that I would like. Are you hurt anywhere, my—"

"Jen," she heard Andi say, "I heard your yell, are you— Get away from her, Lily."

"Andromeda," Lily said cautiously, "You're looking well."

"Not half as well as I will when you step away from Jen."

"Jen?" Lily took a second look at her, and the woman's eyes widened once they moved away from the blindfold that had been revealed when Jen fell. "Jenny?"

Jen frowned. "I do not believe we have been introduced, so what gives you the right to address me so informally?" _And to call me 'Jenny'_, she thought. _No one calls me that_.

"This is Lily Potter," Andi said, then stepped back to watch the fireworks. She and Cissy had discussed Jen a few times over the Floo, and she remembered the stream of invective her sister once repeated that had been voiced when the subject of the Potters came up.

Fortunately, Jen managed to recall where they were, so she swallowed the first retort that came to mind. Instead, she simply said, "I see. It was… well, not a pleasure to meet you," and made to walk off.

"Is that any way to talk to your mother?" Lily demanded, and Andi felt her hopes for the conflict rise once more.

Jen turned an unseen glare upon her, ignoring the reappearance of the idiot boys. "It takes a whole lot more than shooting out a kid from between your legs to make you a mother."

"Hey, you can't talk to my mum like that!" Jen's attention was redirected to the children quickly enough for her to step sideways and avoid the clumsy charge of the shorter boy. Lily did not, and she and her son both fell to the ground. When the other boy began to mimic his friend, she surreptitiously used her magic to trip him into same bookcase they had rammed her into.

Jen walked away from the tangled trio and told Andi, "If that is what the Potters are like, thank Merlin I'm a Black!"

* * *

Sirius was still laughing over the scene Andi had described as he and his goddaughter made their way into Ollivander's wand shop. He knew he should be more sympathetic, but their debacle was too slapstick for it to _not_ appeal to him.

He saw Jen turn her head and followed suit. Just in time, it turned out, as Ollivander had been standing in the corner, presumably to startle unwary patrons. He had certainly not expected that when he was a boy anticipating his first wand.

"Sirius Black, cedar and unicorn hair, fifteen inches. I'm happy to see you a free man; any wandmaker would have known that a wand such as yours would not belong to a traitor. And who are you, my dear?"

"Jen Black, Mr. Ollivander. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." She dropped into a swift curtsey.

"And yours as well, Ms. Black, or is it Ms. Potter?" He chuckled at her surprise. "It will take some time before your past is hidden from one such as I. I remember your parents' wands well, your father favored a mahogany and heartstring wand, eleven inches, while your mother was well matched with a 10¾ inch willow wand with phoenix feather core. And your brother…

"Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches. Powerful, a brother wand to that of He-Who-Must—"

"Mr. Ollivander," Jen interrupted, "while this is certainly interesting, my aunts are waiting for us. Perhaps we could move along with our original purpose?"

Ollivander huffed irritably and pulled forth a small box. "If you are so sure. Try this one first, beech and dragon heartstring, nine inches, flexible."

Sirius was not expecting much. Even if the first wand was a perfect match, he doubted there would be more than a few sparks; he could therefore be excused for being shocked when the wand in Jen's hand let out a loud crack and _burst into flame_.

Ollivander stared at the ashes of his creation with sorrow, while Jen's dubious expression held a hint of panic. The old man finally turned a glare in his goddaughter's direction. "Why don't we use another method, one that will allow me to preserve my stock, hmm?" His rebuke floating in the air, he retreated into the back of his dingy shop.

"Siri, what the _hell_ just happened?"

He shrugged. He wasn't a wandsmith, so how was he to know? Besides that, his mind was otherwise engaged determining just when Jen decided he qualified for a nickname like his cousins.

The store's owner eventually did make a reappearance, carrying three boards and a fist-sized emerald. He set the boards up beside himself and explained, "This is an older method of determining wands, one used before wandcrafters made general wands to match to new wielders. The boards contain either wood, cores, or special non-organic additives, generally jewels. If you would hold this stone, Ms. Black, we will soon know what the dimensions of your wand will be."

She held it, and the gem soon began to glow with an rosy light. Silver runes similar to hieroglyphs flew from the emerald to hover above it at the same time as numerous golden lines shot out, only to curve back around and connect with varying places on Jen's arms, head, and chest.

"In Merlin's name," Ollivander breathed, reading the runes and following the lines. "I have never seen a reaction like this before in all my years; your magic acts as if your own body is a focus…"

"I see. Does that mean that you have no wand to suit me?" She sounded quite happy that was the case, but when Sirius thought about it, he really shouldn't be surprised. She had hidden it well in front of McGonagall, but he saw the disdain she held towards the use of incantations, which all wand-using magicals needed. And earlier, hadn't she made it clear that she did not want a wand, no matter what benefits it would bring? If he had the same freedom with his magic that she had displayed over the past week, he would refuse to be shackled to a piece of wood, too.

"I am sorry, Ms. Black, but it appears that I do not. The only way that I could form one for you… would be to use parts of your own body."

She shuddered, "No, we shall not be doing that. Have a nice day, Mr. Ollivander." The required protocol satisfied, she grabbed his arm and pulled him out the door.

_Well, I guess we'll be going, then._

**xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

The next month was quiet, with the family becoming closer than they had been in living memory. There were laughs, shouts, and even a few tears, but eventually it was time for Jen to go to Hogwarts and take the school by storm.

* * *

**I'm going to make a quick clarification. Jen and Cissy are _not_ having a telepathic conversation; Cissy's response is at the front of her mind, which she unshielded to make it easier for Jen to find. Because of the way she interacts with magic, Jen is the _only_ person who can direct information into someone else's head without a Horcrux-induced mental connection.**

**I've seen several stories where Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis are each other's only friend; generally, these stories have Harry paired with one or both of the two girls and so they can't be Pureblood supremacists. I decided to turn this on its head, with their "friendship" being purely business. In Slytherin, treachery is the only rule and influence the only currency, so anyone pushed to the edges is going to be a people-watcher; they never know when the secrets they learn will be needed for their own protection or advancement. Therefore, Tracey is a useful source of information for a girl entering Hogwarts after everyone has had three years to form their own cliques.**

**Be honest, when reading this chapter, who thought Jen was going to get an Elder wand replica, gem-capped staff, or anything involving components derived from magical creatures chosen at random from "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them"? My theory is, wands act as amplifiers, which she doesn't need, and form connections with their wielder's magical core, which she doesn't have. I'll admit, my original notes had her getting an obscure focus, but the wandless magic became such a fundamental aspect of her character that I eventually scrapped it.**

**I make no apologies for Jen's language.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	7. Problems on the Platform

**Katzztar:** It's under Bobmin's profile on fanficauthors dot net. I recommend it; it's a wonderful personality-driven Harmony story.

**dopplerdee:** Run too much electricity through a piece of wood, and it'll catch on fire (I've actually done this with a stick and a 12V battery, so just take my word for it). She wants the school's attention, so she'll go with what she knows best. Yes, destroying the world will rid you of paperwork, but it also means you won't get an update of this story. Decisions, decisions.

**twilliams1797:** I didn't realize that I was recommended on Caer Azkaban; it makes my cold, black heart swell with pride :) I know exactly what you mean, that's partly why I throw so many cliches out the door. Luna (obviously) is going to get along with Jen just fine; Hermione, on the other hand…

**September first at last, and it only took us six chapter to get here! It makes me wonder how long I'll need to get through the next two school years.**

**Disclaimer:** Did Harry always enter Platform 9¾ from the Muggle side, even when he was staying with the Weasleys? If so, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.

* * *

**Chapter 7  
****Problems on the Platform**

Four women, two men, and a bird entered a train station.

_God_, Jen thought, _we sound like a bad joke_. Both her adopted aunts and Sirius had informed her that there was no way they were going to let her Floo onto Platform 9¾ by herself, especially since this would be her first time taking the Hogwarts Express. Tired of arguing, she had let the matter drop and accepted that since none of the three of them had actual jobs, there was no reason they couldn't go with her.

_Then_ she was told that Dora and Ted were taking the day off to join in.

"I still don't see the point of the entire family coming here. It's a train; I'm going to get on it, find a seat, and leave. What part of that requires all of you escorting me?" At least they had only come ten minutes early; she had talked them down from the hour they had initially demanded.

"Nostalgia, for the most part," Andi answered. "We still remember the days we spent taking the train to Hogwarts with our friends, parents waving at us as we rolled away. Now, we get to see you ride the same train on to the school for the first time."

"It also lets us scare away any boys who try to get too close," growled Sirius, glaring at the clothes she was wearing. She had used her scrying mirror to make the selection and had chosen a fine outfit, apparently meant for dueling, composed of a green silk blouse over dark canvas trousers. Combined with the black high-heeled dragonhide boots Cissy had purchased for her in Diagon, she was sure to catch many people's eyes; the sooner she had their attention, the sooner she could begin to make the social and political connections necessary for the next four years and her entire post-Hogwarts life.

It had not been kept secret from her that, as Sirius's goddaughter, she would probably gain control of the Black family upon his death or abdication, a scenario that was even more likely due to the fact that his time in Azkaban meant that he would be exceedingly lucky to ever have progeny. Together with the 'procedure' her aunts had performed on her, her claim to the role of Family Head was practically unassailable.

He had also taken the opportunity this summer to explain the realities of the position to her, and she now understood more about the duties she would be expected to discharge than she had ever wanted to know. To be honest, she thought most of the tasks she would be required to perform were extremely tedious, but at least the Black family wasn't like other Ancient Houses that prohibited women from taking on the role in favor of their husbands or sons. There were simply too many daughters of Family Heads who deserved their name 'Bellatrix' for that rule to have lasted long.

Jen sighed. She might wish her future was more interesting, but at least this way she wouldn't have to worry about being cast out of the family like she would have if Cissy's son was the head; her month in Grimmauld Place had spoiled her too much for her to desire returning to Avryporth.

"Yes, yes, Siri, let's keep all evil, lusting, sex-obsessed boys away from me for all time," she said, responding finally to Sirius's half-serious joke. "Please recall who one of my clients was and point to the flaw in your logic."

He blinked in confusion before his eyes shot to Cissy. "Right. On second thought, you can take your OWLs and NEWTs after homeschooling."

"Ignore him," Cissy said. She looked out to the throng of people congregating on the platform. "I wanted to introduce you to Draco, but he has more than likely already found a seat on the Express. I know he can be a tad big-headed, but please _try_ to get along with him. For me?"

"Alright, Aunt Cissy, for you. I need to go ahead and find somewhere to sit, then I'll be back." Hiking her satchel higher on her shoulder, she whistled to Loki, who reluctantly left his—apparently comfortable—perch on Dora's head, where he had been ever since Dora had arrived at the house. The woman shuddered and cast several charms on herself as soon as he had latched onto Jen. "Really? It's not like he shit on you or anything."

"I don't care. Birds should ride on shoulders, arms, or in cages, _not_ on my _head!"_

Only after she had actually stepped on the train did Jen let her grin appear on her face. She had known Dora would hate what Loki did, though as he was not a post-owl but a true familiar, there was little Dora could do to stop him. Several laws protected familiars from harm and inconvenience except under dangerous conditions, and perching on someone's head was not one of them.

"Great job, boy, I knew I could count on you," she murmured, running a finger through the feathers of his breast, and his croak was tinged with good humor. He was named after the Norse god of mischief, how could he _not_ enjoy helping out on a prank or two?

She knew she had little time before the train left, so she was understandably upset when it was only in the third coach that she found an empty compartment. She took off her bag and set it in one of the seat, and Loki hopped down onto it.

"You willing to keep an eye on our stuff?" He gurgled this time and puffed up his feathers. "Yes, I'm sure that no one will be able to mess with it if you're the guard. Silly bird." With one last rub on his head, she headed back to the platform to give her short goodbyes. Once there, though, she hung back; someone she did not recognize was speaking to her family, and none of them were happy about it.

* * *

To Sirius, there was only one problem with seeing his goddaughter off to Hogwarts. In a public place like the platform, nothing was stopping him from being approached by people he would rather not deal with right now.

"Sirius."

"James." _How sad is it_, he thought, _that even after what they did to me, to __**Jen**__, I still miss his friendship?_

James Potter swallowed, obviously nervous about this meeting. "What, er… how have you been?"

How he wished he could have confronted James at the same time he had Lily! When he was burning up in anger, he could say things he never would when calm; the past month had been long enough for his temper to cool. While he would probably never completely forgive the Potters for what happened to Jen, he was also—in a deep, dark part of his mind—almost _happy_ that they wanted nothing to do with her. If what he had seen of their son was any indication of their parenting skills, Jen raised by her actual parents would not be the bright, vivacious, quick-witted, and incomprehensibly powerful young woman he now viewed as his own flesh and blood.

"I've been better," he said, "but I've also been worse, so I'll take what I can get."

James nodded and shuffled his feet uncomfortably. "I am sorry, you know. About not testifying on your behalf. I was just, I didn't want to believe that you would use dark magic, but with Peter doing what he did…"

"It's fine, James, I understand." If someone had shown him 'credible evidence' that James had used dark magic to kill someone, he would also have a hard time figuring out what was real. "That's behind us."

The smile on James grew until it nearly split his face in half. "Good, good." He cast a quick look at the Tonkses and Cissy. "Who are you waiting for?"

"Jen ran in to get a compartment for the trip, so she should be coming out soon." He was quite happy about this turn of events. If James was willing to swallow his pride and apologize to him, maybe he would also see Jen and realize the mistake he had made all those years ago. There were times a girl, even one who had raised herself, could use her dad's advice, and while he had many good points, father-material he was not.

"Jen?"

_Oh, right, she was called Jenny the last time he saw her_. "Jennifer, my goddaughter, your actual daughter, remember?"

"Sirius," James said with a frown, "she's a Squib. She can't go to Hogwarts, no matter how much you wish she could."

"She's not a Squib. She's definitely a witch." Oh, was she a witch. He hadn't mentioned it to anyone, but what she could do at fourteen _still_ unnerved him. Mastery of wandless magic with a sharp mind and a short temper was _not_ a good combination for anyone who pranked her, as he found out from personal experience this past month.

James shook his head. "She's a Squib, Sirius, accept it. I know you were wrapped around her finger when she was little, but you shouldn't give her false hope that she'll be able to do magic." Sirius wanted to set him straight, but he hadn't finished. "Lily told me about their… _talk_, in Flourish and Blotts's Ancient Rune section. You know as well as I do that even if she learned everything there was to know about runes, or potions, or anything else that doesn't need a wand, she still won't be able to use them since she _doesn't have any magic_.

"Honestly, Sirius, all you've done is set her up for failure. She was better off in the Muggle world."

_That_ was the wrong thing to say. Sirius's anger, previously mere embers, flared to terrible life. James had no idea what her childhood had been like; worse, he didn't even care! Was he so worried about the damage his daughter being a Squib could do to his reputation that he would throw her out into the Muggle world without a single concern for how she would be cared for, who would raise her?

Padfoot's growl emanating from his throat, he stepped into James's personal space, their heads separated by only a few inches. "_You_ have no right to say where she was better off, James. You don't have a damn clue what happened to her out there, what she was forced to do just to survive. I could tell some stories about what she has revealed to us that would turn your hair white!" His voice softened dangerously. "It doesn't matter to you, though, does it? She is your daughter, or at least _was_, but you still threw her out of your house because you thought she wasn't good enough. You're as bad as my parents were!

"But you can go on ignoring her. She's a Black now; her home is with us, in this world! We will love her like you never did, we will give her what she needs, and when you realize the depths of your mistake, we will say 'we told you so'. Remember this moment, for when you wail, and you moan, and you apologize over _and over_ for how badly you think and act towards her, we will have no sympathy or comfort for you.

"As for you thinking Jen's a Squib? She's powerful, so much so that I bet she has more magic in her little toe than your oh-so-precious 'Boy-Who-Lived' does in his entire body."

"Don't. Don't you dare say anything against my son," James warned, fingers tightening in his pocket, presumably around his wand. "Danny defeated You-Know-Who while the girl did nothing, and you think _she_ is stronger? Not a chance." He scoffed, "St. Mungo's clearly couldn't repair the damage Azkaban did to your mind as well as they thought; I can't come up with any other reason you would associate with a _Malfoy_, of all people. When you come to your senses and realize who really belongs in the magical world, you know how to contact me. If you're too soft to do it, I'll even _Obliviate_ her for you so you can put her back wherever you found her."

Sirius grabbed for his wand, but he was beaten to the punch as thick metal cables wrapped around James's form, throwing him backwards onto the ground. His eyes shot in the direction they came from and saw Jen standing there, sneer on her face as she held out her 'wand'—really just a wooden stick used by children to practice wand movements before they could attend Hogwarts. Sirius unconsciously whimpered; he was nervous about her effortless wandless magic, yes, but there was something primal and terrifying about an angry witch pointing a wand at him. He should know, it happened often enough while he was in school.

She stalked to her bound father. "The _only_ person who will have anything to do with my memories is _me_. I'll give you a warning: I'm not as nice as Sirius is. You threaten me again, and I won't just tie you up, I'll show you why I'm a Black. You insult my aunts or my godfather again, and you'll beg for death."

The Express's whistle prevented her from threatening James further. She instead walked over to Cissy and hugged her, then repeated her actions with each member of the family, finishing with Sirius. "Alright, I guess I need to go. Don't have too much fun without me."

Sirius held her closer for a moment, "We'll miss you, but just concentrate on your studies. It'll be Christmastime before you know it, and then you can come back home."

"Christmas? Don't be silly," she whispered, "I can teleport, remember?" She laughed as she backed away, running onto the train when it started to move. "Catch you later!"

He smiled, and knew even without looking that all the rest of his family were, too. When the train moved out of sight, they walked back to the Floo, paying no attention to the man still restrained on the platform floor.

* * *

Jen made her way to the compartment she had left her belongings in by following the spark of Loki's magical core. When she arrived, he leapt to her shoulder, and she retrieved one of the books she had borrowed from the library for the term. She knew that traditional classes generally progressed more slowly than tutoring, even though she had never set foot in a classroom, and was worried that she would become bored; she was also slightly concerned that she would be behind the other students, though she would never admit to it. They had three years of large classes where she had one-on-one instruction for twice that long, so there should be no need for alarm.

She had barely read through a chapter when her compartment door opened. Recognizing the mental signature and magical core as Tracey, she waved her hand towards the row of seats opposite where she was stretched out. "So how did the past month go for you, friend?"

"Better than the month before it," the girl responded, sitting primly, "My grandfather was _'most impressed'_ that I had made a political connection with the rumored heiress of Black, said that if I kept up with these actions, he might even be nearly as proud of me as he would were I a Pureblood. Sanctimonious prick."

She chuckled at Tracey's acidic comments. "I'm glad I could be so helpful, pushing you towards the cusp of respectability."

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Why did you bring that raven with you? We can't have any birds other than owls."

"That would be true if he weren't my familiar," she said, giving the animal in question a short mental command, "but as he is, Hogwarts's bylaws prevent any staff from prohibiting him entrance."

"Blimey, not bad if you can get it. Wait, why is he looking at me like— hey, get away!" She flapped her arms to ward him off, ultimately failing. "Jen Black, why is your bird—"

"Loki."

"—Loki, then, sitting on my head?"

Jen smirked. "Well, I had him play a bit of a trick on my cousin by perching like that. I guess he's found it to be better than a shoulder. If you ignore him, he'll get off on his own. Eventually. Maybe."

"Well, now we know why you never had company over if you treat others like this," Tracey snarked.

"And yet I have _no_ idea why you aren't surrounded by admirers."

The two girls grinned at each other, their sarcasm cementing their budding friendship.

* * *

**Yes, James is a bit of a idiot here, isn't he? He's spent the past thirteen years thinking Jen is a Squib, and if the Potters are anything like the Weasleys, they would just pretend she didn't exist. Remember how, in the first chapter, their son didn't even know he had a twin sister? That's because James and Lily never mentioned her. And saying Sirius should have left her in the Muggle world, in Candyland? He didn't know it, but he couldn't have said anything worse if he _tried_; at this point, basically any bridges left between the two men have been burned.**

**Sirius has jumped into the role of Family Head with both feet, making the situation even worse. The family looks to him as The Authority™, and in return he will provide for and protect them. And if he will do that for relatives that he disagrees with, like Narcissa, just what will he do for his beloved goddaughter?**

**Tracey is looking to be more and more fun to write. She is offensive and proud of it, amusing herself by throwing scathing and sarcastic comments at any person or thing that rubs her the wrong way. With three years of anger stored up, I recommend you expect more of her barbs.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	8. Reconnaissance

**apAiden:** Yes, James does indeed fit the Gryffindor stereotype, and that's also why someone had to beat the idea that Jen is indeed a witch into his head; Jen's personal satisfaction is just a bonus. I'm undecided what to do with Hermione; on the one hand, I really like her and don't want to be constantly smacking her down, but on the other, she's going to need an intense reality check if she's going to be around as strong and jaded a personality as Jen. Cissy didn't tell Draco where she's been or what she's been doing, so he won't know who Jen is until the Sorting.

**Muroshi:** Heh heh, _no_. Bella's dedicated to Voldemort above all else (including family, since we know she doesn't care about her nephew being safe), while Jen cares about herself and then the other Blacks. Putting the two of them in the same room would cause a few fireworks, and not in the good way.

**Haruchai:** I don't want to sound rude, but if you'll look at the summary, I say that Danny is the BWL, _not_ that it's a wrong-boy/girl/child/pumpkin-who-lived story; that position's closed, and he has the scar and Horcrux to prove it (and no, he doesn't know about that last part). The pseudo-Squibdom had nothing at all to do with the KC. I'm curious if you'll think she has "goddess level power" by the end of the chapter.

**Okay, folks and friends, I have good news and bad news. The bad news (for you) is that I started the first year of medical school on Monday, so my free time, a.k.a. my writing time, is shortly going to shrink down to a few hours on weekends and maybe—_maybe_—getting one chapter out a week. The _good_ news is that over my vacation last week, I managed to get a lot written for each of my stories, and all that's left is putting everything together and polishing it. This means you'll have a few weeks of our regular schedule before the several-week-long delays hit.**

**Disclaimer:** In his six years in Hogwarts, did Harry ever "network" besides teaching the DA? If not, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.

* * *

**Chapter 8  
****Reconnaissance**

From far above, the Hogwarts express could be mistaken for a long scarlet snake, winding its way from London to an ancient castle in the Scottish highlands. On September first, it would repeat the same journey it had been making for almost a century and a half. Every year, students would use their time on the train to recount exaggerated tales of their summer adventures, eat their body weights in overpriced candy, and place bets on who the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor would be and how they would be removed from the staff. On this particular train ride, two teenagers were plotting how best to improve their social standings.

"You said in Diagon Alley that you would elevate me in the Snake Pit if I gave you information on the other students, so what do you want to know?"

Jen cocked an eyebrow. "A Slytherin freely giving away her secrets? How strange this world has become today."

"_Please_. This isn't free and you know it. I just want to get my side of the bargain out of the way. So," Tracey leaned back into her seat, "who's first?"

"Let us _pretend_ for a moment that I know no one at the school. Who are the major players? What have they done to earn their reputations? What strengths and weaknesses have you observed in them? You know, the basics."

The other girl groaned, "You're going to make me earn my keep, I can already tell. I'll start with my house, just because I know it best. Terrance Higgs is the role model for the older students. He's the Quidditch captain, and even though the team hasn't had a winning season since he started, that position still garners him some respect from the boys and _propositions_ from the girls. His grades are like his flying and leadership, subpar. Honestly, if it weren't for his then-girlfriend Carol Runcorn, he would never have passed his OWLs, and I doubt he'll do well on his NEWTs this year.

"Much as I wish he weren't, Draco Malfoy is probably the main up-and-comer in Slytherin at the moment. He threw around enough of daddy's money to buy himself a spot on the Quidditch team as a Seeker, the same position as his 'rival', Danny Potter. If you ask me, it was a waste of his political capital; he's worse at playing the game than Higgs is at directing it. Of course, it's impossible to tell how much of the praise he gets in the House is due to his maneuvering his way into people's good graces behind the scenes and how much is their fear of his father Lucius."

"Based on what you've seen, which do you think it is?"

Tracey grinned. "Once Lucky Lucy is six feet under, it'll be fun to watch his son crash and burn. If he's already married to the _'Perfect Pureblood Princess Pansy Parkinson'_, so much the better. Her family has to have a male Head, so his fall will also bring down those bloody vultures."

"Bad blood between your family and theirs?"

"The worst. My great-great-uncle Reginald Davis created the recipe for Butterbeer, and one of the Parkinsons murdered him, stole it, and started marketing it. The Wizengamot passing a ban on Blood Feuds is the only reason we weren't at each other's throats." She sighed. "History lessons aren't what you're paying me for, though. Neither Higgs nor Malfoy have any real talent other than picking fights and running away before they get smacked down like naughty puppies, and Parkinson doesn't even have that. Weaknesses, where should I start? They're living stereotypes of the overly indulged, overly proud, overly confident, and overly inbred Purebloods. Insult their heritage, force them into a duel, be the instigator in any way, and you'll have total control of the encounter."

"Wonderful, that makes Aunt Cissy's request that much more difficult to honor."

Tracey gulped. "So I was right, that _was_ Narcissa Malfoy with you in Madam Malkin's."

"Yes, I've known her a long, long time. I promised to give her son a chance, but I suppose that it's his own fault if he squanders it.

"So, the bigwigs for the Snakes are Higgs, Draco, and Parkinson. Who else commands the school's attention?"

"Gryffindor has three interconnected sets of 'leaders'. The Quidditch team is the main one. If their former captain Oliver Wood hadn't been so obsessed with the game, he could have been just as big a playboy as Higgs. The second group is the prankster twins, Fred and George Weasley. If you change color or sound like an animal, they're probably to blame. The more stress people put on them, the more they act up; last year was their OWL year, and the school was a bloody war zone. They and their buddy Lee Jordan are dancing around dating the Lions' Chasers.

"The third bunch is the 'Golden Trio', who are in our year like Malfoy. That's Potter and his best friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. They consider themselves 'heroes', and whenever they act like it, I would have put them on suicide watch. All the flaws of Gryffindor House are represented: impulsive recklessness, a sense of superiority due to their House, and incredible self-righteousness, respectively. The only one that I would even bother speaking to is Granger—she at least has more than two brain cells to rub together—but she's not much better than the others."

Jen nodded, connecting all the information she had been given so far. "If Draco's arrogant and the Gryffindors are reckless and morally superior, how often do they butt heads in public?"

"All the damn time," Tracey growled. "I can't tell you how much I've wanted to curse all of them to get them to shut their bloody mouths."

"If you do lose it and curse them, make sure you're not spotted. I can't have my walking dossier being expelled, now can I?"

"Yeah, yeah. Ravenclaw doesn't have much of a social structure; too many lone wolves. If I had to peg someone as being in charge, though… Roger Davies and Cho Chang. He's number one in his year, has been every year he's attended. Smart guy, but very reliant on what's been written in books; he'd drown if you threw him in a pond without letting him read how to swim. Chang's a bitch, no two ways about it. She bullies the younger girls until they join her little clique and treat her like the queen bee. She rules through fear, though, so if you want to have a devoted little entourage, take her down a peg or ten."

"How old are they?" Jen asked.

"Davies is a seventh year, Chang's fifth."

"No one our age in charge of the 'Claws?"

"Nope," Tracey replied, "that's only in Slytherin and Gryffindor. Hufflepuff has only one leader, and that's Cedric Diggory. Sixth year, Quidditch captain and Seeker; cute, too, if you're into the whole 'goody-two-shoes, pretty boy' look. That said, his grandfather was a professional duelist, and his father was almost that good as a young man, so I doubt he'd be a slouch if he ever got in a tiff."

"So Higgs and Davies in seventh, Weasley twins and Diggory in sixth, Chang in fifth, and Draco, Parkinson, Potter, Weasley, and Granger in our year. These twelve are the most popular?"

Tracey nodded. "Pretty much. There are some rumor mongers throughout the Houses and years—Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, Lions, and the Badger Megan Jones are the ones in ours—but they can be avoided or neutralized."

"Anything I need to do to avoid social suicide?" Jen wondered.

"Depends."

"On?"

"Well," Tracey drawled, "mostly on what House you wind up in. If you're sorted into Slytherin like I expect, you'll be able to interact with any Snake freely because you're a Black, but there will be some difficulty if you want to get to know someone from the outside. Make it into one of the other Houses, and being seen with me could get you a few strange looks.

"Being too friendly with the first and second years will also cause you problems; people will wonder if you can't handle people your own age. Hufflepuff is practically a commune, and Gryffindor supposedly has parties every weekend and no internal curfew, so you would need to spend a lot of time mingling in either one. Also, since those two houses are filled with the children of Light families, you'd have to cozy up to Potter and his gang—"

"_That_," Jen interrupted, "is not going to happen."

Her vehemence rendered Tracey speechless, but only for a moment. "Would it be too forward for me to ask why you are so against building a rapport with them?"

"No, it's not. I suppose I need to tell you, anyway. My name wasn't always Black; I was born Jennifer Lily Potter."

Tracey blinked. Then blinked again. "I'm sorry, I think I went insane for a moment. Did you say that you're related to Danny Potter?"

"Unfortunately, I'm his twin sister. After their _wonderful _son became the Boy-Who-Failed-At-Dying, they decided I was no more than a Squib and chucked me into the Muggle world." When the other girl did not respond other than gaping like a fish, she gave Tracey a light poke. "You in there?"

"Everyone talks about them like they're perfect, like they can do no wrong, but no one has any idea that they had two children, let alone that they got rid of you. Twins are always equal magically, so why did they consider you a Squib when Potter obviously isn't?"

"Core dissonance; for some reason, my magic had trouble synchronizing with the rest of my soul, so tests would say I was a Squib even though I performed accidental magic. I had a French Healer correct it, so their actions do not endear them to me."

Tracey sneered. "As well they shouldn't! If it was fixed that easily, they have no excuse for what they did. If you ever decide to take it out on Potter, though, give me some warning; that is one duel I won't want to miss.

"The best way to avoid any unnecessary conflict—with him, his posse, or the sheep that worship him—would be to get sorted into Ravenclaw. There are a few social 'Claws, but that is only in comparison to their Housemates, and no one pays much attention to why they associate with the people they do. You could keep your distance from Potter, make an attempt at getting to know Malfoy, and still have the chance to network with members of other Houses. The only restriction would be that you can't start any fights in front of everyone, especially with Potter, or you'll be painted with the same brush as Slytherins. 'Claws are supposed to sit back and analyze every option before they make a move."

"I like that plan," Jen said, turning it over once more in her mind. She had no need to make friends with _every_ individual in the school, as long as she had a few she could trust. All she wanted from the masses was respect, though lust would do in a pinch; either would give her the recognition and admiration she would need later to continue the rise in power the Black family was experiencing as they retook their place in Magical British society. "It will allow me to keep some secrets from the school at large, and perhaps even hide some backdoor deals. Do you have contacts in the other Houses that I might use?"

Tracey's grimace prompted a raised eyebrow. "Not really. Even though staying out of the limelight keeps the other Slytherins off my back, it means that all the other students know about me is that I'm a 'sneaky, slimy Snake'. You, well you're the first person to actually sit down and talk to me since my Housemates made it known I was a half-blood."

She frowned, she had been so focused on extracting the information she desired that she had forgotten that she and Tracey were in, if not identical, similar situations: no one had ever met them, at least not personally in Tracey's case. It would not matter how much they plotted and schemed if they couldn't put their plans into practice. She reached into her satchel and pulled out a slim silver pocket watch, which Cissy had given to her after they returned from Diagon Alley. Apparently, while it was an English tradition for parents to present one to young men on their seventeenth birthdays, Black children received theirs when they turned thirteen, signifying the responsibility they now bore as representatives for the family in Hogwarts. That custom was so deeply ingrained that Cissy actually apologized for it being a year late!

Before she opened it, she gently ran her thumb over the emblem embossed on the front. It was exquisite, and when she had looked at it through her scrying mirror, she had marveled at its beauty, black onyx and white opal set in contrast to form the family crest. On the inside of the cover was a simple inscription, one she had listened to so many times in private that she did not even need to touch it to hear her aunt's voice. _'To Jen, from your family.'_ Swinging her attention to the watch itself, she noticed that it was only ten to twelve. "How long is the train ride to Hogwarts, Tracey?"

The girl shrugged. "Six hours, maybe a little more. I thought you knew that."

"I knew it took a while, but not the exact length. Unless there is something you desperately need to tell me, I think we should take the opportunity to put our plan in motion."

Jen ignored Tracey's murmuring of "Our plan?" and opened the compartment door. Drawing her blank wand, she examined the hallway in more detail than she had at the station. _Wood and steel, not the best materials for what I want, but with enough force, they should work. I'd kill for some aluminum or titanium, though, even copper._ Wood was slightly magically resistant, hence its use in wands to focus spells in a straight line, while steel contained enough iron to disperse some of the magic fed into it. _The coaches themselves probably aren't magical. They wouldn't have to be, only the locomotive itself would need to be able to work around Hogwarts. Hell, the school could very well have stolen the actually passenger coaches from other train stations._

Deciding to go with quick brute force rather than efficiency, she settled herself and widened the connection she shared with the planet. Energy, viscous and reminding her of the smell of soil and grass, flowed into her feet and up her legs, created a momentary flash of heat in her loins as the two streams merged at her hips, and travelled further up her body along her spine, causing goosebumps to form on her skin and her breathing to hitch. At her collarbones, the additional magic she was channeling split into three tributaries, two going down her arms and out her fingers, while the last circled into her head, briefly sharpening her hearing, smell, and taste before they adjusted, and spilling through her scalp and down the length of her hair. She waved her wand in nonsense patterns even as she collected much of the magic moving through her flesh into her left hand. _Come,_ she silently intoned, _all who feel alone in the crowd, drifting in the sea of Hogwarts. Come to me._ Restricting her compulsion to those students around her own age, she laid her hand against the walls of the coach's hallway and released the spell, sensing it move down the hall as a pulse. When it reached the ends of the coach, she smiled as the magic remaining was sufficient for it to leap to the adjacent coaches, where she knew it would continue, broadcasting her command to all in its path.

"What the bloody hell was that!" Tracey shouted. "I could feel the magic coming off you; I almost _saw_ it! No one our age should be able to use that intense a spell without being put in a coma!"

"It was tiring, but nowhere near enough to knock me out," Jen responded as she barely kept herself from falling into her seat, her body shaking slightly before she closed most of her connection. It was true that the spell wouldn't give her magical exhaustion, but for a completely different reason than she had implied. Exhaustion occurred when a witch's core was emptied and she no longer had magic running through her form. Jen's problem was the exact opposite: she had to be cautious about channeling enormous amounts of magic. Her soul was in no danger, but it affected her flesh the same way high voltages of electricity would. Every time she tapped into more power than she was accustomed to, it left her aroused yet also in pain from the damage she inflicted to her nerves and soft tissues. If she ever lost control of the forces she had access to, her death was a foregone conclusion.

"As to what I did, I decided to send a little, _invitation_, you could say. Let's see if there is anyone at Hogwarts so lonely that they submit to my compulsion and visit us."

It took a few minutes, but Jen had healed herself and recalled Loki, and Tracey had regained her composure, when the first person came through the door.

* * *

**I'm looking back on Tracey's speech patterns, and I think she's more Southern than any other character I've written so far. Oh well, I knew it would happen eventually. I admit, there's a lot more going on with the semi-canon trio than Tracey is privy to, so don't get pissy until you see them yourselves.**

**Wondering who Megan Jones is? I've used Rowling's "Original Forty", a copy of Sorcerer's Stone, fanfiction, and my own discretion to come up with the distribution of students from the 1991 sorting. The list is now up on my profile.**

**Take a good look at Jen's birth name, it's probably the only time you'll ever see it. By the way, while we're talking about Jen giving out information, I hope you realize why she's only telling Tracey half the truth. She will be more honest when they've known each other for longer than _one day_.**

**Before anyone asks how no one knew that Lily Potter gave birth to twins, she went into hiding (not Fidelius, but heavy wards) while she was still pregnant. They reappeared in public after Halloween '81 and shipping Jen off to the Dursleys.**

**A few chapters ago, Honest Lunar Raven asked if there were any downsides to the ritual to tap into the world's magic; this was one of the "few other risks" I mentioned. For anyone who needs a hint about what would happen to Jen if she reached too far, reread the third scene in chapter 6. What happened to that poor wand is what she faces every time she pushes the envelope.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	9. Holding Court

**Addictive Label:** I completely understand; the first chapter isn't pleasant, but you should be caught up. The only background information is in the first and last scenes of the chapter, and neither of them is disturbing, just in case you want to double-check. I'm glad you're not a member of the "Harriet/call me Harri" bandwagon, either. To be honest, I just wanted to be a little different.

**Disclaimer:** How many people did Harry regularly spend time with; two, three when he was dating Ginny? If so, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.

* * *

**Chapter 9  
****Holding Court**

"_As to what I did, I decided to send a little, **invitation**, you could say. Let's see if there is anyone at Hogwarts so lonely that they submit to my compulsion and visit us."_

_It took a few minutes, but Jen had healed herself and recalled Loki, and Tracey had regained her composure, when the first person came through the door._

* * *

The first thing Jen noticed was that their visitor was nearly a man. His body was about the right size, as was his magical core. He looked at the girls and immediately started backing out. "I'm really sorry about barging in like that, I'll just be leaving."

"Nonsense," she replied, moving her satchel into her lap. "There's plenty of space, and we certainly don't mind you joining us. Do you have a problem with it, Tracey?"

The Slytherin was startled for a moment, but she regained her composure with admirable speed. "Not at all. Please, take a seat."

"Thanks." He moved his trunk up to the rack above them and joined Tracey's side of the compartment. "My name's Kenneth, Kenneth Towler."

Jen gave him a slightly sultry smile. "My name is Jen Black. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Towler."

"Tracey Davis." She held out her had for Kenneth to shake. "I know this is probably none of my business, but I remember your name from last year. Weren't you the one that —"

"Yeah, that was me. Bloody Weasley twins," he growled, and Jen caught the embarrassment and anger simmering just beneath the surface.

Deciding to give him a little push, she asked, "I'm sorry, but I wasn't here last year. What happened?"

"From the way I hear it, the twins cursed you with boils so you couldn't make it to your Transfiguration exam."

Kenneth sighed. "They didn't exactly curse me. What happened is that they played a prank on me, or at least tried to. Having itching powder poured in your day clothes is one thing; if it had been just that, I could have dealt with it or changed them during a break. The idiots couldn't do something that simple, oh no. That wouldn't have been 'impressive' enough. Instead, they put some in my pajamas; by the time I woke up that next morning, the powder had irritated my skin enough that I had to stay in the hospital wing until just after lunch, and I still wasn't at my best for the practical portion of my OWL. Thanks to their childish senses of humor, I can't take NEWT level Transfiguration, which is one of my strongest subjects." His bitter rant finished, he looked at the two girls sheepishly. "Sorry about that."

Tracey opened her mouth, no doubt to deliver a scathing comment, but Jen smoothly cut her off. "Don't apologize. Now I know to avoid the two of them." Tracey's head turned in her direction, and she flashed a small half-smirk back, one quick enough that Kenneth would miss it. Her friend's ire temporarily soothed, she prompted the boy to elaborate. "So, you're a sixth year. What House?"

"Gryffindor," he replied with a smile, "home of the noble and daring."

This time she was unable to stop the other girl. "Yes, because giving a roommate boils is such a _noble_ thing to do." A wince was her only answer.

"What kind of hobbies do you have at the school?" Jen asked to regain his attention. She might appreciate Tracey's blunt sarcasm, but most others would not. Honestly, it seemed that the Davis family heiress's worst enemy when it came to forming connections was not her blood status, but the mouth she had developed as a result of the prejudice she dealt with.

Kenneth, thankfully, totally missed her verbal maneuvering. "Well, there are a few course clubs; I've heard that Flitwick, the Charms professor, has the most popular one. If you like Gobstones or chess, you can always find someone willing to play, but most of the school would love nothing more than going to Quidditch games every day."

That was something that was becoming very clear to her. Of the dozen student leaders, half of them were involved in the sport. She was willing to do a great deal to forge alliances, but she had much better things to do with her time than constantly practice for a game that she had no interest for. That did not mean, however, that she would actively attempt to alienate those who did. "Do you play, or just watch?"

"I play in an occasional pick-up game, but I'm not on the House team." He scoffed, "I was going to try out for the Seeker position my third year, but that was when Danny Potter came to Hogwarts. The kid somehow got on the team after his first official flying lesson. I don't have a problem that he's on the team, he's a far better flier than I am, but I just wish he had actually attended the tryouts Wood had scheduled. It's the principle of the thing, you know?"

She nodded, but was saved from having to respond by the compartment door opening again. This time, there were two people who entered, both a boy and girl. "Er," said the girl, "is it okay if we join you? We needed to get away from the people we were riding with, and this is the first compartment we found that has space."

"Of course," Jen said. She introduced herself and her current companions, then waited for the newcomers.

The boy was the one to speak up. "I'm Justin Finch-Fletchley, and this is Susan Bones." The now-named Susan had levitated their trunks to rest next to Kenneth's, and they sat together next to Jen.

"I recognize you, Davis, but I've never seen _you_ around," Susan said to her. "Are you related to Sirius Black?"

She nodded. "He's my cousin and Family Head, if that's what you're asking."

"Pretty much. Auntie has been going on all summer about how bull-headed and forceful he is." She blushed and continued in a much quieter voice. "N-not to say she doesn't like him; she thinks he's funny, really." Justin put a hand on her shoulder, which seemed to calm her down. "I had just wondered if you were, maybe, his daughter."

Jen was incapable of halting the chuckles that broke through. "Me, Sirius's daughter? Oh, thank God that isn't true. I'd be a complete wreck."

"Wreck?" Justin asked.

"Yes. Sirius is a big kid at heart, and he loves playing pranks on all of us. More than a little bit annoying, actually.

"I know that Kenneth's a Gryffindor, and Tracey a Slytherin," she ignored the older boy scooting slightly farther away from her 'advisor', "but what about you two?"

They draped their arms around each other's shoulders. _"You might belong in Hufflepuff, where they are just and loyal; those patient Hufflepuffs are true and unafraid of toil,"_ they sang, much to Jen's bewilderment. The other occupants both smiled, like they were all sharing an inside joke. Justin saw her confusion and explained, "That was part of the song the Sorting Hat sang our first year to describe what the different Houses are like."

"Hat? You are sorted by a _hat?"_ She huffed, there would be revenge upon her family the next time she saw them. "My aunts were talking about having to duel one of the older students; how you went about it determined which House you were in." This revelation sparked more smiles, and even some light laughter from Susan, who quickly stopped when she saw that she was the only one.

Tracey said, "My mum told me that we had to jump off the Astronomy tower holding a broom, and the staff chose by how close we got to the ground before we tried to fly away."

"My parents said you had to get passed a chimera." Kenneth chimed in.

"Auntie made it sound like there were four different tasks, and the one you did best on was the House you would be in."

Justin grimaced. "I didn't have any idea what it would be until we actually did it."

"Why not?" Jen asked. _It seems that most families tell tall tales to their children about the Sorting, so why would his family act differently?_

Susan held onto his arm. "Justin's a Muggleborn. He didn't know about our world until his letter arrived and he came here." Curiously, that was the strongest her voice had been since the two Badgers had entered.

_Ah, of course. That would do it._ "I understand," Jen said. "I spent quite a bit of time in the Muggle world while growing up, actually; you have no need to fear any prejudice from me." Her words caused Justin to smile, and Susan to blush brightly.

The door opened once again, leading her to wonder if sending such a wide-ranging compulsion was the best plan for her to start with. She opened her mouth to greet the sixth member of their discussion, but the words caught in her throat. She had seen many magical cores, and all of them had been the same: balls of energy, compressing and expanding in time with the beats of their bearer's hearts. Not this one, though; it was a flurry of motion, twirling and spinning, maintaining a constant speed despite its wild gyrations. Wondering if the girl whose core it was knew the cause of her condition, she mentally reached out, only to be surprised once again. She felt no shields, but heard no thoughts; it was complete emptiness, like there was no one there at all.

"Hello," the unnatural girl said in a dreamy voice. "You must be Jennifer Black."

"I prefer to go by Jen, actually. How did you know my name?"

"Oh, your twillcks told me. You are the first person I've ever met who has more than one; most people don't have any, you know."

"I… see?" None of the others seemed to understand any more than she did, though Justin was obviously unhappy at her presence. "Since you already have my name, would you be willing to give yours?"

"Certainly."

She waited a moment, wondering when the girl would continue. "What is your name?"

"Luna Lovegood." She cocked her head. "You are surprised by me. Strange, since you are rather different, yourself. Few blind people can move as surely as you do."

_Was she watching me on the platform?_ Jen thought, before Kenneth cut off her musings.

"What do you mean, blind?"

Luna shrugged. "I would think you should ask Jen that question."

Now that all eyes were on her, she brushed her long bangs away from her face. Besides Luna and Tracey, they all gasped when they saw her blindfold.

"I'm so sorry, you should have told us. We didn't mean to be rude." Susan was fretting away, acting like she was due at the gallows for whatever insult she felt had been given. Justin didn't look much better. _Are all Hufflepuffs this frantic and pathetic?_ She waved off any further apologies and used the motion to attempt one of the spells she had found in one of the textbooks for third year that Sirius had bought before he located her. Her cheering charm successfully took hold, bringing Susan down from the verge of hyperventilation.

"I hid the blindfold for this exact reason. I do not want pity or well-meaning but ultimately unnecessary aid. The best way to avoid this, I have found, is to look like I don't need it to begin with." Noting the downcast emotions on their faces, she continued, "I do, however, thank you for your concern."

Luna was still standing, she realized, and entertaining herself by looking intently at the empty air above their heads. _Most people would speak with her for only a moment and dismiss her, likely thinking she is insane or mentally deficient in some way; that would be a tremendous mistake. She is observant, that is clear from the fact that she had to have been watching me before we left in order to see that I am blind. There is also her knowing my name. I have not met with anyone else, so there is no reason for someone outside this compartment to know who I am. Either she overheard us when we were introducing ourselves, which means she fought the compulsion enough to hesitate outside the door, or she gained the information in some way I am unaware of, these 'twillcks' she mentioned. I wonder how much else she can discern. This girl could be a valuable ally, a dangerous enemy, or an absolute nobody, and predicting which is the case right now is impossible._

And she was _still_ standing. "Luna, take a seat if you wish."

The odd girl looked at her a moment longer, then reached behind herself and picked up a trunk. Kenneth, acting like the gentleman Gryffindors were reputed to be, took it from her and placed it with the others; the two then sat down in the remaining seats, with Luna in between the Lion and Snake.

Wondering if she was really about to have all four Houses represented in this compartment, Jen asked the newcomer for her House just like she had all the others, setting an avoidance spell on the door at the same time.

"Ravenclaw," she replied. "I'm about to start my third year. Perhaps it will be more enjoyable than the last two."

The other returning students frowned, grimaced, or in Justin's case, cringed. Now Jen was starting to worry. "What happened the last two years?"

"Well, the second half of last year wasn't really that bad," Tracey said. "But for the first half, we all thought your cousin was trying to break in and kill Potter as revenge on his parents, so there were Dementors posted all over." She could understand why this would be a problem; Sirius had explained to her what the Azkaban guards were like, and she never wanted to meet one. Every one of those demons should be wiped off the face of the earth, in her personal opinion.

"The year before that, there was a monster going around and petrifying people," Susan said, looking at Justin. "The Headmaster said that Danny Potter killed it, but he never said how or what it was. There were rumors that it was a basilisk, but no one can explain how it would have petrified when that animal's eyes kill."

"Not to mention that the year before _that_, one of the corridors on the third floor was out of bounds. Dumbledore warned all the students that trying to go there would ensure a _'most painful death'_," Kenneth reminded them.

Tracey scoffed. "And I bet you went looking there the first week."

"I'm a Lion, it comes with the territory."

"So much for Hogwarts being safe," Jen muttered, recalling how Sirius had said that she would _'have lots of fun, maybe prank a few people'_. From the way he spoke of the school, the most danger she would be in was being flipped upside down, hence her decision to wear trousers. Perhaps she would continue with her clothing choice, but for the range of motion it offered rather than as a defense against pranking.

Susan leapt into action to reassure her. "Most of the time, it's not that bad. We," she pointed at her Housemate and herself, "didn't have any issues our first year, and like Davis said, last term was fine. Hopefully this year will be more like that than second year."

"Hopefully," Jen repeated, then shook her head. "Enough of this maudlin talk. There's still several hours left in this ride. Does anyone have something to pass the time with?"

Justin rummaged in his pockets for several moments before pulling out a wrapped deck of cards. "I have Exploding Snap, if anyone wants to play."

She reached over and took a card from him. It was charmed to produce soot and a loud noise when it was in contact with another specific card or cards, and she could feel the sunken number in the corners. "The card has an imprint. Sure, I'll give it a chance." He dealt the cards out to the two of them, along with Susan and Kenneth, and began to explain the rules of the game to her.

* * *

Tracey frowned lightly. When she had met the heiress of Black, she had hoped she had finally made a friend. Honestly, just having a willing ally would be acceptable, but Jen was showing her Slytherin side and was already cultivating two noticeable connections. Towler, though he hadn't mentioned it, was a prefect, and from the scuttlebutt she had gathered, was in the prime position for becoming Head Boy. Bones, on the other hand, had few personal strengths, but being the niece of the director of the DMLE meant she was still an influential acquaintance. Jen was drifting away from her, and they hadn't even reached Hogsmeade.

Watching the blind girl beating all of her fellow players in the card game, she admitted she understood the underlying reasons. Jen would need to spend time with 'acceptable' people, and if the girl managed to sneak into Ravenclaw like she had suggested, being a Slytherin would make her a liability rather than an asset. The only question would be whether she would be dropped cold-turkey or if there would be a convenient 'argument' where they would completely break ties with each other. She was hoping it was the second; at least that way she could deceive herself for a few months into thinking that the other shoe wasn't about to drop.

The loud bangs and laughter stopped, and she looked for what had caught everyone else's attention, only to realize that the game was still going on.

"You shouldn't worry so much," Lovegood said softly.

Tracey looked at the messy-haired blonde lunatic, wondering what Jen saw in her to ask her to join them. Everyone thought that she was barking mad, and from what she had said earlier, the Snake was having trouble disagreeing.

"Jen needs them, but she will need you, as well." Protruding grey eyes unfocused, Loony could have just as easily been talking to dust motes as to her. "In fact, Tracey Davis, I believe that as her first friend, you will be far more important to her than they. That is, if you don't let your jealousy ruin everything. She hides herself from us, but I would be surprised that she hasn't been more open to you."

A flick of Lovegood's wand and the sound returned, no one the wiser about their little chat. "Just a little advice. It's amazing what you can learn when you simply keep your eyes and mind open." With that, she returned to reading her copy of the _Quibbler_.

_Odd; I thought that people who're completely 'round the twist weren't supposed to make any sense._ She should understand hiding your thoughts and motives; it was, after all, an essential skill in the Snake Pit. And hadn't she recognized Jen as a real Slytherin? In that case, the girl would keep her around as long as she still had value, and she had plenty more information to dole out. The blonde's words about being friends she pushed to the back of her mind; there would be plenty of time later to think on them and decide if Jen really saw her like that. _Maybe this won't be as bad as I feared._

* * *

**I've always wondered how other students felt when Harry became the Gryffindor seeker. Who had been practicing, only to be told that the spot was already full? And of those, how many held grudges about it?**

**Silently Watches out.**


	10. Arrival

**cookyc:** As of this moment, only the Potters, the Blacks, McGonagall, and Tracey know Jen was born a Potter. The Blacks and Tracey won't tell, McGonagall plans to share it on a "need to know" basis (though who's on that list is an issue), and the Potters _can't_ without casting themselves in a very bad light.

**Penny is wise:** You'd think so, but everyone knows that Dumbledore turns a blind eye to whatever the Lions do, so no Hufflepuff is going to stick their neck out, and any Slytherin complaining would just be a whiny, spoiled brat (and yes, I do think that the House prejudices are that bad in canon). As soon as Harry's first year was over, I'd have turned to my friends and told them not to get their hopes up about winning the House cup for a while.

**Mad Mad Reviewer:** Let's just say I wasn't comfortable with even writing what Jen went through, let alone posting it. I like the idea of a powerful main character shaking things up, but I don't think I let it go too far. After all, _she_ isn't capable of conjuring Godzilla :)

**Hp-speed-reader:** It was Danny who did those things. I've seen several Twin-who-Lived stories where the other sibling is little more than a Squib and gets credit for Harry's heroics, but this isn't one of them. The boy's capable, certainly, but he's not the main character.

**Disclaimer:** Did it take Harry until book 5 to see the Thestrals? If so, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.

* * *

**Chapter 10  
****Arrival**

Halfway through the journey to Hogwarts, the clouds that had portended rain that morning finally acted upon their threat, and so it was a torrential downpour that greeted the young wizards and witches to the Hogsmeade platform. Some of the students, Muggleborns all, had brought umbrellas, while a few more pulled up the hoods of their cloaks to cover their heads. Most, however, were forced to sprint up the hill in the direction of the school.

_I hope we don't have to walk the entire way there,_ Jen thought as she subtly pushed the rain away from herself, her magic acting like a slicker and keeping her dry, at least above her ankles. Loki, wanting to stay out of the elements as much as his mistress, huddled against the right side of her head and under her shield. _There is far too much mud along the path for it to be entirely safe._

She had read that Hogwarts possessed incredible wards, and she certainly noticed when she crossed their boundaries. Just like when she entered Grimmauld Place for the first time, the castle pressed against her with all the weight its magic could bring to bear. After a moment or two, it seemed to reluctantly let her into the grounds, where her magical sense stretched out for approximately one hundred feet.

_It's not as good as I am used to at home,_ she thought, _but at least I can access a greater range than I had in Avryporth. Having the same clarity as Grimmauld would be nice, but it isn't like I'm the heir of Hogwarts. After all, I could only stay aware of everything around me because I was the future head of Black inside a Black family property and its wards._

She directed her attention forwards and found their destination. At the crest of the hill they were walking on was a line of carriages, each pulled by a large winged horse. A more focused inspection revealed them to be thin and bony, practically emaciated, though they seemed quite healthy nevertheless. A misstep caused her to slip in the mud, and only Kenneth's quick reflexes kept her from falling face-first into the road. She muttered a curse and kept her mind on the slick path in front of her.

Following another few minutes of slogging through the muck, they reached the carriages. Kenneth waved a goodbye as he made his way to a group of older students, likely friends in his year. Susan and Justin departed immediately after, which left only Tracey, Luna, and herself.

"Can we get out of this storm already?" Tracey groused, her teeth chattering. Jen was feeling a mite bit cold herself, though the mild warming charm she had placed on her clothing largely kept the chill's bite at bay. The two girls approached one of the waiting buggies, the flighty Ravenclaw following only a few paces behind, and Tracey entered the cab while Jen made a quick detour. Reaching up with one hand, she lightly stroked the side of the flying horse. It's skin was supple like leather, and it nickered softly as she ran her hand from its flank towards the neck.

"They are beautiful, aren't they?" asked Luna.

She sighed. "Yes, they certainly are."

Tracey poked her head outside. "Hey, what the bloody hell are you two still doing out there?"

"I would think that fairly obvious," she replied, giving the horse a slight pat.

"Looks to me like you're lost and trying to find the carriage. The door is about four or five feet to your left; just follow my voice."

Jen scoffed. "I know where you are, Tracey. If you can't understand what I'm doing, then we need to check which of us is blind."

"Have you ever seen someone die, Tracey Davis?" Luna said, stepping in the middle of their developing argument.

Tracey started. "And my parents say I'm tactless. You don't ask personal questions out of the blue like that! I should knock you on your arse for that comment!"

"It doesn't matter that you can't see them, you know." Jen wasn't sure if Luna truly had not heard Tracey's retort, or simply didn't care. "They are just as real as you and me."

Jen focused on the girl. "What are they?"

"Thestrals."

"Shite!" They turned to find Tracey jumping out of the carriage as if it was on fire. "Get away from them, both of you!"

"For what reason?" Thanks to Elsie, Jen had been generally informed about the magical world, but she would admit that there were aspects of the culture that she did not yet comprehend. That didn't mean she had to like it, especially when whatever it was she lacked exposure to appeared to be common knowledge.

Tracey gaped at her. "They're _death omens_, Jen! Get too close to one, and Death itself will soon seek you out."

"Himself," Jen corrected absently. "Tracey, I've already touched the damn thing; the only way for me to get any closer would be decidedly disgusting." _I'll leave __**that**__ to Siri_, she joked silently.

"They don't actually cause death," Luna stated in an unequivocal tone. Her sternness caught both of the fourth years' attentions. "They just have a bad reputation because only people who have witnessed death can see them."

"And who have _you_ seen die, then?" Tracey snarled.

"My mother. She liked to experiment, and one day one of her projects went very wrong. I was nine."

All the blood drained out of the Slytherin's face. "Oh. I'm sorry, I didn't know."

Luna shrugged. "You don't need to apologize, I made my peace with it a long time ago. Besides, I believe that when I, too, pass beyond the Veil, we'll see each other again." With that, she climbed into the carriage. "Are you two coming?"

Jen lightly clapped Tracey on one shoulder and joined Luna. A moment later, so did she.

* * *

The ride to the school only took ten minutes, but the trio spent their time in awkward silence, unsure of what to say after Luna's confession. As they walked through the front doors, she noticed McGonagall making her way towards them.

"Ms. Black, I need you to stay outside of the Great Hall for a few minutes. The Sorting takes place before the feast; I hope that, since you are not one of the first years, you are willing to wait until they have all joined their Houses for me to call you in."

"That would be fine, Professor," she said. Once the woman had left, she turned to the two with her. "Well, looks like the moment of truth, friends."

"Oh, I've never had friends before!" exclaimed Luna. In her enthusiasm, she latched onto both Jen and Tracey and pulled them into a hug before she skipped away. "This will be ever so much fun!"

Tracey stared at the girl's back before turning to Jen and expressing her confusion with an eloquent "Huh?"

"I don't totally understand, either, but I know one thing." Jen pointed a finger in Luna's direction. "With her around, at least we won't have to worry about being bored."

"Sure…" Tracey replied. "I'm going to run to my table now and hope my sanity returns in the next few minutes. Maybe I'll see you there."

"Maybe, but for both our sakes, I hope not. It would make our networking that much more difficult." The smart-mouthed girl smirked and departed as well.

Jen thoughtlessly conjured a chair and sat down; thankfully, the other students had already passed her, or she would have been asked some very difficult questions. Loki croaked, prompting her to create a tall perch next to her for him to rest on.

_How long does McGonagall plan for me to wait_, she wondered. She did not know the number of first years who had to be placed in their Houses, nor how long was required for each student, and her senses did not pass through walls here like they did in London. _I could be sitting here anywhere from three minutes to an hour or more!_ She mentally groaned at the fact that she had not even thought to ask those questions while the professor was speaking with her. _I can't let opportunities slip by me like that; I have too many things to do._

Sensing his mistress's distress, Loki hopped down onto her lap and began pecking at her satchel, each poke and nip sandwiched between croaks, huffs, and burbles. This was not the first time he had acted in this fashion, so she lifted the flap and allowed him to enter the greatly expanded space. It took him several minutes, but eventually he returned, bringing with him the small mirror from her ritual kit.

"Of course," she murmured, slapping her hand against her forehead, "how could I have forgotten about that option? Thank you, dear." Her words caused him to puff up, swelling his body as much as they did his ego. She cast her 'sonar' around once more to verify that no one was watching, then waved her hand over the mirror, disabling the enchantments that held it in the small size she used to store it; where before it could fit in her pocket, now it was a foot in diameter.

She placed her palm on its cold surface and began dragging her fingers around the edge, all the while forcing magic into, not the glass itself, but the image it reflected. After only a couple of passes, the mirror softened and seemed to melt, flowing around her hand as if it were a liquid rather than a solid. At the same time, a spot of color appeared in the darkness that was her world; it shimmered and grew, rushing towards her like a wave breaking on the beach. Loki landed on her shoulder, and she obliged him and slid a tendril of thought into his mind so that he could also witness what she would see. Concentrating on the inside of the Great Hall, she fell into the sparkling pool of light.

_This room is certainly impressive,_ she thought as her mental projection stood in the middle of the Hall. She looked around at the numerous students, several hundred altogether if every student was present, then turned towards the front. There stood the only professor she knew, but Jen could see that McGonagall was acting in her capacity as Deputy Headmistress rather than the Transfiguration teacher. The woman levitated a ramshackle three-legged stool before her, placed a patched and dirty hat atop it, then stepped back. The hat twitched, soundlessly ripping a large hole near the brim, and then it acted just as Justin said it did. It _sang_.

_Not that it sings well,_ she thought. The four-line verses were technically correct, rhyming and following a consistent meter, but there was no passion in the voice ringing through the room. It's words were bland and monotone, as to be expected from an inanimate object that had been animated; to be honest, she felt that the time it spent singing could be better used simply describing the qualities of the four Houses. The end of the hat's song was greeted with applause from all viewers, though the reason was likely inconsistent.

McGonagall returned to her position near the musical headwear and unrolled a scroll. "Ackerly, Stewart," she called, and a boy staggered his way to the stool and placed the hat on his head.

A moment passed, and the hat spoke. "RAVENCLAW!"

The table to Jen's left, under a blue banner depicting a bronze bird, burst into cheers as the newest 'Claw joined them. Not for the last time did Jen wish that she still had access to her magical sense and mind-reading while scrying; she now knew where the Ravenclaws sat, but she could not match Luna's distinguishing attributes with her physical appearance. Was she the Indian girl in the middle of the table? The blonde with glazed silver eyes near the end? The short redhead sitting next to an attractive Asian witch?

A look at the Slytherin table following the second boy being Sorted there confirmed that she was equally unable to recognize Tracey. She did not bother giving Gryffindor or Hufflepuff more than a cursory glance, for she knew she would not be able to tell who was who.

Overall, the Sorting progressed more quickly than she had feared, lasting only twenty minutes or so by her estimation. When the last first year, one Kevin Whitby, was safely ensconced at the Hufflepuff table, an old white-haired man seated at the center of the staff table rose, only to be cut off by McGonagall's next words.

"Every year, there are children invited to Hogwarts who — because of finances, long-term illnesses, or other reasons — are unable to attend. Though they are always welcome to come later, we have not had a student enroll late or transfer from another school in over fifty years. Tonight, that changes."

Knowing that she was about to be in the spotlight, Jen left her scrying session. She stood, a single wave of her free hand shrinking the mirror and vanishing the chair and perch, and dropped her mirror into her satchel. She paused, unsure, then removed her bag and shrunk it, too. "Wait out here, I should be done in about an hour. Until then, take care of this for me," she said to Loki. He groaned but took the miniature bag in his beak and leapt off of her shoulder to find a roost in the hallway.

The doors to the Great Hall creaking open heralded McGonagall's call. "Now, I would like to have our newest fourth year student join us. Ms. Jennifer Black, come and be Sorted."

Accepting the professor's invitation, she strode into the room with confidence, her heels clacking against the stone floor with each step. Her ears picked up a number of comments about her from the other teenagers.

"I wish I looked half that good!"

"Why is she wearing dueling clothes under her robes? Is she expecting a fight?"

"Do you think she's related to _those_ Blacks?"

"_That_ is what a Pureblood princess should look like."

Many of the other whispers were in the same veins, students admiring her appearance while wondering about her name. By the time she arrived at the Sorting Hat, she was elated. Her first goal was accomplished; she had claimed her classmates' and schoolmates' attention. Now came the hard part: making them respect and admire her, and by extension, the Black family.

She sat gracefully on the stool and allowed McGonagall to place it on her hair. _How is this supposed to work?_

"First, you have to let me in your head," said a small voice in her ear.

If she had not known that there was no one around her to speak, she would have jumped away in surprise. As it was, she simply tensed and mentally broadcasted her response. _I take it you are the Sorting Hat?_

"Indeed," the hat chuckled. "Now, would you mind weakening your shields? I have never before had difficulty witnessing someone's memories, but your Occlumency is several orders of magnitude stronger than even Dumbledore's. If I didn't know better, I would think that you only have one powerful wall protecting your mind."

_If you cannot access my memories, why don't we have a little chat so you can Sort me instead?_

"You misunderstand, child. It's not that I _can't_ force my way in, it's just that I do not like doing so. Strong Occlumency shields can shatter violently if too much pressure is applied." She did not reply or comply, so the hat simply sighed. "Very well, if that is how you want this to go."

She felt weight being dropped on her mind, increasing in strength each time it rammed into her natural shield. Realizing that it was going to crack at this rate, she channeled more magic through her body, directing much of the additional power into the barrier.

"You do know that this is futile, don't you?" it panted, somehow tired from its exertions. "If I am not able to penetrate by myself, Lady Hogwarts will grant me the extra magic I need to do so. It would be easier if you just let me see your past."

_Not going to happen._ There were aspects of her history that she was quite happy not reliving, thank you very much, and if she kept them from herself, why would she ever share them with someone or something else, especially a filthy, ratty, long-winded, louse-filled article of headgear!

The hat growled at the insult. "You shouldn't have been so stubborn, you arrogant child." When the next blow came, it was far stronger than she was capable of resisting. Her head was splitting in two, blood gushing from her nose and ears, and the magic she had invested in her shield was thrown back, burning her spine and causing tremors throughout her body.

"Shh, shh, the pain will soon pass." This was not the voice of the Sorting Hat; it was instead a woman's voice, smooth and cultured. "I apologize for how Godric's hat treated you, it was most unprofessional."

_Your platitudes don't do me much good when I'm bleeding all over the floor, now do they?_

"Worry not. The sensations you feel are entirely mental; all anyone outside can see is you sitting here quietly. Now, my child, you still need to be Sorted, so I shall perform the duty."

Jen would have fought the presence off, but the pain, while lessening, was still too great to focus through. Her thoughts were jumbled, bouncing back and forth randomly.

"I understand now your reluctance to share your memories. You did not have a happy childhood, if what you experienced even deserves that term. Your relatives, the streets, and then the brothel; many of life's dark secrets that adults hide their children from are intimately familiar to you. Making real friends will be difficult for you, for you have a completely different frame of reference than any other student here."

_Just get on with it, you rock heap! I don't need a bloody lecture right now, considering you nearly gave me a stroke!_ The words of the castle — for who or what else could chastise the Sorting Hat? — did have a benefit: enough time had passed for her to fight her way through the damage the magical backlash had inflicted on her and reduce her connection to the planet. She restrained the excess power and forced it into her flesh and bone, healing the various injuries it had created.

"For your own safety, you should learn to restrain that temper," cautioned Lady Hogwarts. "It is one of your worst flaws, and even you can be beaten if there are sufficient enemies before you. However, you have a point; we have taken enough of the students' time.

"It should be little surprise to you, but the worst choice is Gryffindor. You care not for honor and use chivalry only when you feel it will benefit you. Combined with your hatred for the Potter boy, you would turn the Lion's tower into a war zone.

"Hufflepuff is likewise inadvisable. Your main loyalty is to yourself, which is directly opposed to the Badger creed. You are also slow to trust, no matter how you may act, and your housemates would press you for information you are unwilling to divulge. It is not a bloodbath, but isolation that Hufflepuff portends for you; isolation that would be a disaster for both your plans and your emotional wellbeing.

"Slytherin is the best match, or it was a century ago. In recent decades, students have viewed the Snake Pit, as you call it, to be a den of treachery and evil. A true survivor, willing to adapt to changing circumstances and make appropriate sacrifices to further her goals, would be anathema to the many spoiled children who now wear silver and green, even if the blood on your hands means you would find common ground with the most violent students there.

"You are intelligent, that is not in question, and your curiosity serves you well. Ravenclaw also offers you neutrality, which you will need for success in your ventures. Perhaps you will even learn more about how to peacefully and honestly interact with your contemporaries."

Overall, this Sorting was going more or less how Jen had hoped, but one thing still bothered her. _You have mentioned several times how a House would or would not benefit my goals. Why do you act like you want me to accomplish them so much, like you even give a damn?_

"I care for all students who seek shelter and personal growth here inside my walls, and is not accomplishing various tasks how one achieves that growth? I only provide the necessary tools; it is up to you to bring your desires into reality." Jen could not respond, for Hogwarts's voice had departed, replaced by the Sorting Hat's.

"RAVENCLAW!"

* * *

**I just can't see Tracey and Luna getting along well, at least not before they have a chance to really get to know each other; expect them to butt heads for a little while longer.**

**For anyone who was hoping for a copy of the Sorting Hat's song, I read too many stories that started in first year and included that same _blasted_ song for me to voluntarily include one in _any_ story I ever write. Not going to copy it, definitely not going to make one of my own, won't touch it with a ten-foot pole.**

**The Sorting was supposed to be fairly simple, just "you don't fit here, here, or here for the most part, so go to Ravenclaw". Then the Hat got offended, Lady Hogwarts stepped in, and I'm left looking at my screen saying "where the hell did _that_ come from?"**

**Silently Watches out.**


	11. Announcements

**Impstar:** Jen's attitude _is_ a problem, which was kind of my point. It should have been clear before now, but her three major character flaws are that she's short-tempered, she's stubborn, and she's arrogant. When the Sorting Hat wanted her to lower her shields, she did what stubborn and arrogant people the world over do: she crossed her arms and said "Make me." And Hogwarts did.

**Armacrys:** Ugh, I hate the songs, too. Reading what few descriptions there are in the books and watching the movies, I believe that Hogwarts was built to _resemble_ a castle rather than _be_ a castle; it's missing several of the defenses that castles from that period had. As for the basilisk, it _was_ left there by one of the Founders, so the, um, _intelligence_ of Hogwarts may have ignored it. Of course, Dumbledore appeared on the scene for the petrifications pretty quickly, so it may have informed him that a student was injured.

These are just a few guesses. If you can't tell, that scene was all the muse's work. All I can say is that it looks to be part of a subplot that I'm still uncovering.

**The Mad Mad Reviewer:** My thought is that it takes a really powerful shield to even notice what the Hat's doing. Jen, who runs a third of her total magical output through her brain before it exits her body, is one of the only people in the world who has a shield that strong. Don't worry, Jen bows before Jamie Evans's greatness.

**Penny is wise:** This is the first time the Hat has ever had to sort someone like Jen. As for being allowed, its only purpose is Sorting new students, so why wouldn't it do what it needed to do to fulfill that purpose?

**Disclaimer:** Did everyone just accept that Dumbledore often sounded like he was completely insane without giving him a full psychological workup? If so, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.

* * *

**Chapter 11  
****Announcements**

Jen swept the Sorting Hat off her head with a slight sigh. That was not at _all_ what she expected to happen, but at least she was in Ravenclaw. She rose from the stool and made her way over to the table full of clapping students, sitting in an empty space between a pair of witches.

The old wizard in the center of the table stood, and she could almost feel the anger rolling off of him. "Please, tuck in," he said in a clipped voice, then he erected a soundproof charm around himself and McGonagall. While she was curious about what they were saying, modifying the spell he had used would require getting much closer to the arguing pair or making her actions very obvious. _As long as it doesn't affect me negatively, I suppose it really doesn't make much of a difference_, she thought to herself.

"Hey," the girl to her left said in a Scottish brogue. "I'm Morag MacDougal."

"And I'm Padma Patil," said the girl to her right.

"Jen Black." The requisite introductions over, she gathered several of the nearby dishes to her and added their contents to her plate. Pork chops, mashed potato, a vegetable medley; while she was sure Kreacher could have cooked them better, she had to give the castle's house-elves credit for making a decent meal for the several hundred students attending the feast.

"So," Morag began after loading her own dishes, "how come you didn't come here until this year?"

Jen hastily swallowed her mouthful of food, thinking hard of how best to answer the question. She had revealed to Tracey that she was blind, and Luna had mentioned it to everyone in their compartment, but she didn't wish to have the whole school know about her disability. Amongst other things, her moving around without resorting to compensation techniques such as a cane or trailing her hand along a wall would invite numerous questions, questions she didn't have a ready answer for that would keep her out of Azkaban.

"A couple of reasons, none of which I am comfortable sharing at present, I'm afraid."

"Oh, well that makes sense. I was just curious," Morag said sheepishly.

Knowing that she needed alliances, and unsure of where the MacDougal family was located in Britain's hierarchy, she decided to extend an olive branch. "Perfectly understandable. When we have known each other for longer, maybe I will be more inclined to tell you; it's just very personal, you see." This was acceptable to the girl if the nod she received was any indication, so she turned to her Indian neighbor. "McGonagall informed me that I would need to meet with our head of house sometime soon. Can you point him out for me?"

"Sure, Professor Flitwick's the short man sitting near the end of the table."

Feeling where Padma was pointing, she found the teacher in question. His core was steadier than that of anyone else in the room, only changing size slightly and providing a sensation much like a warm stone would. "He isn't entirely human, is he?"

"Nope," Morag provided, "he's part goblin, though I don't remember if it's half or fourth. He used to be a professional dueler, and I heard that his stature made him very hard to hit."

"I'll keep that in mind if I ever get the bright idea to try my wand against him," she said with a grin, one that was replicated on the other's faces. She raised her goblet to her lips and took a sip, only to force herself not to spit the vile concoction out. She swallowed with difficulty. "What the bloody hell is this?"

"Pumpkin juice," Padma said with a frown. "Haven't you ever had any before?"

"No, and the Baron bless me that I might never have it again. Is there any way I can get some plain water?" No sooner had the words left her mouth than her cup was taken from her grasp and replaced by another. A cautious sniff revealed no odor, and her tongue verified that it was, in fact, just cold water.

Talk after that was diminished due to their shared need for sustenance, Jen being particularly ravenous. Once the last of the desserts had been demolished, the man she now knew was Dora's acclaimed Albus Dumbledore stood, this time all smiles.

"So! Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices." What followed was enough evidence of the Headmaster's insanity for her to become quite worried about her own safety. 437 magical artifacts banned from the castle? That over four hundred items, none of the examples of which were all that dangerous, were banned by a Squib was _amusing_ to the wizened old fart if the emotion he was broadcasting was any judge. And a forest whose seemingly only purpose was to be forbidden? Yes, tell the idiot children that they can't go somewhere; the only thing that was in question was how long it took one of the first years to be pressured by his or her peers into spending the night there.

_God, if this is what Siri meant when he said Hogwarts was **safe**, then let's hope that I never have a dangerous year!_

"It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year." That statement shut down all conversation, though it wasn't long before a rumble of displeasure began building in the quiet air. "This is due to an event that will be starting in October and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teacher's time and energy, but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts —"

His words were cut off by the storm overhead sounding off with a particularly loud crack of thunder, followed by the doors to the Hall flying open once more. A man stepped in, one who was in drastic need of a good plastic surgeon. Every inch of his face was covered in scar tissue, and his eyes were mismatched in size. A second 'glance' showed Jen that his left eye was actually a magical prosthesis, one that moved independently of his real eye and transmitted what it saw through a mental connection to its wearer. His right leg was also a replacement, enchanted oak wood if she didn't miss her guess, and carved into a clawed foot reminiscent of a dragon's. The strange and ugly man limped over to the staff table, exchanged a few words with Dumbledore, and sat down to eat from a plate of sausages that had just appeared before him.

Dumbledore apparently couldn't let silence be present for more than a few seconds. "May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher? Professor Moody." The old goat and a giant of a man both clapped, but she noticed that none of the other staff or students joined in; the two oddballs ceased their greetings quickly. "As I was saying, we have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

"You're JOKING!" shouted a member of the Lions' House, and there were murmurs and laughter around the room as other students agreed with the sentiments. Jen, for her part, was silent, attempting to recall where she had read about this Tournament. It sounded so familiar…

"I am not joking, Mr. Weasley," so _that_ was one of the infamous Prankster Twins, "though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the sumer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar."

McGonagall cleared her throat, catching Dumbledore's attention and dragging him from what would likely be a convoluted train of thought, ending with a story about how much better everything had been when he was a boy. "Er, but maybe this is not the time… no… Where was I?"

_Yep, the Headmaster is senile. **Wonderful**._

"Ah, yes, the Triwizard Tournament… well, some of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely."

Personally, Jen was tempted to do that herself even if she couldn't remember what she had read about it. Her curiosity won out, though, and she listened absently to the short overview the man gave about two other magical schools, dangerous tasks, and using students as unpaid diplomats to foster some mutual goodwill between the antagonistic Ministries. Her mind finally latched onto Dumbledore's words when he mentioned the high death toll.

_Yes, that's what I read about Tournament. The last one was held at Beauxbatons in 1865, and the first task was a simultaneous event that pitted the schools' champions against each other in a race to see who could subdue a giant the fastest. Needless to say, the giant won._

"In a departure from tradition, however, the departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Sports and Games, as well as the administrators of the other schools and I, have decided to widen the field a little for all of you." There was a hush as the students waited in anticipation for the Headmaster's announcement. "Where normally there would be only three champions, this year there will be six."

"Six champions?" asked an older Ravenclaw a few seats removed from Jen. "Can they do that?"

Dumbledore clapped his hands to regain the crowd's attention. "Each school will have both a senior and junior champion. The seniors must all be of age — that is, seventeen years or older — while the junior must be at least fourteen and no older than sixteen. This means that those of you who are already of age cannot have two opportunities at becoming a champion. Junior champions will be given additional aid to compensate for the difficulty and danger they may not be prepared for. You see," the old man paused dramatically, "all champions will face the same tasks, no matter their age."

_That certainly set the cat amongst the pigeons. We don't even know what the prize is, and already everyone is debating whether they have what it takes to win. For all the hype, the victor had better get a king's ransom._

"I will personally be ensuring that no student attempts to hoodwink the impartial judge we will be bringing here into making them a champion in a category they are not eligible for. I therefore beg you not to waste your time.

"The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October and remaining with us for the greater part of the year. I know that you will extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your wholehearted support to the Hogwarts champions when they are selected. And now, it is late, and —"

He was cut off as McGonagall waved him to come closer. They held a whispered conversation, after which Dumbledore straightened again and gave all the student's an embarrassed expression. "Ah, I seem to have forgotten to mention what the winners will get. The schools' champions will be competing for the magnificent Triwizard Cup, glory for their school, and one thousand galleons prize money each."

While the students around her were whooping and cheering, Jen could only stare at the Headmaster in shock. _That's it? We're supposed to risk life and limb for only a thousand galleons?_ To be honest, for most people five-hundred galleons could be a life-changing amount of money, but it was not enough to compensate for any crippling injuries should a champion be crippled in the arena. That it wasn't a drop in the bucket compared to the fortune the Black family possessed only reinforced her decision. _Well, at least I know I won't be competing. I have better things to do than waste my time with this fiasco._

"Now it is bedtime, and you will need your sleep for classes tomorrow. Chop chop!"

Jen stood with the rest of the students and heard one of the older students, likely a prefect, call for all the first years to come to him. She turned to Morag and Padma only to find that they had already begun walking out of the Great Hall. Shrugging, she followed after them; they would know where the other students in her year would be. She expected the prefect would be telling the first years where the classes would be and how to reach their dorms, information she could gain just as easily from careful observation and personal exploration.

She had almost caught up to them when the whirling dervish that was Luna popped up behind her. "Well, _that_ was an interesting speech. What did you think about it, Jen?"

"Somehow, I have no trouble believing that the Wizarding World still revels in blood sport. Depending on how many tasks there are this time around, I may have to find somewhere hidden and quiet to do my research."

"So you won't be entering your name in as the junior champion?"

Jen scoffed. "Of course not. What would be the point in doing that? I will have enough difficulty reorganizing my study schedule to allow time for the homework that I have to do."

"Hmm. Don't count your dragons before they hatch; you just might want to participate, after all."

She did not like how Luna had phrased that rebuttal, but she nodded and let the matter drop. She was not a Seer, after all; she did not know what the future held, though she doubted anything would happen that necessitated her altering her decision.

"Perhaps." She cast her attention around her, searching for a change in topic, when she noticed that all the other Ravenclaws were heading in more or less the same direction. "I take it that this is the route to our common room."

Luna nodded. "Yes, we are in one of the towers with a bronze door-knocker shaped like an eagle protecting the way in. The other common rooms have guardians who require a password, but he asks a riddle, and if you don't answer it correctly, he won't let you inside."

"That… seems like a security risk, quite frankly. What is stopping some random student from finding the tower and guessing the right answer?"

"Oh, that's easy. Alfred, that's my name for the eagle, won't ask a question unless there's a Ravenclaw in front of him. Come on, I'll introduce you to him!" Linking their arms, she increased her speed to a run, moving into a passage that was hidden behind a tapestry.

_Password-protected doors? Secret passageways in the walls? I'll need a bloody talking map if it's this complicated just finding my way from the Great Hall to the dorm!_

* * *

Dumbledore's placid facade shattered the instant he closed the door to his office behind him. He sank into his chair and buried his head in his hands, the cries of his phoenix familiar, Fawkes, doing little to soothe his despair and fear. _What have they done? And how; I used the most obscure spell I could find to make sure that the Potter girl would be a Squib. Don't they know that their actions will spell out our doom?_

_No, of course they don't. __**They**__ didn't hear the warning from Fate. Should I reveal the Prophecy to them, show them how dangerous that girl is?_ He pondered for a moment, weighing the pros and cons, before discarding the idea. _They wouldn't accept it; they'll think I'm losing my mind, worrying about one untrained witch. No one can know, though it will just make my task harder._

_Is there still time to turn her to the Light? Everyone deserves the opportunity to redeem themselves, even her._ He perked up at that thought. With her heritage and destiny, she would be an incredibly powerful chess piece — a queen, even — if he could but convince her to deny her innate evil._ And if I cannot, no matter; she may be powerful in the future, but she is nothing more than an inexperienced child at the moment, whereas I am not._

_Yes, I shall extend one hand in friendship while holding my wand in the other, just in case. After all, who defended the world against Gellert, who held off Tom's assault until Danny destroyed his body? Just as I protected the witches and wizards of Britain then, I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, **will** prevent the horrors Jenny Potter seeks to visit upon us now, one way or another._

* * *

Jen took in the size of her room. Normally, Ravenclaw students slept in pairs, but Mandy Brocklehurst was quite comfortable living with Su Li and Lisa Turpin, which left her an entire room all to herself. Not that she was complaining; if she was forced to share a room with another person, there would have to be a condition guaranteeing her some naked, sweaty fun.

"Well," she said to herself, "let's see what I can do with this place." The first wave of her hand forced the beds together, making a frame the same size as the one she slept on in Grimmauld Place. A second melded the mattresses together, and a third did the same to the curtains. She was about to tackle the next chore when she heard a rapping on her window; opening it let in a wet, bedraggled, and very displeased raven.

She grabbed him and pulled him close in her arms, magicking the water and cold off of him. "Oh, Loki, I'm sorry. I didn't have the chance to call you back down with Luna dragging me all over the castle."

Her apologies were apparently not enough for the bird, for he sharply pecked at her ear, drawing blood, before he dropped her shrunken luggage into her hand and flew to the top of the short bookcase to glare reproachfully at her. She frowned back but did not bother scolding him; his condition was her fault, after all. Enlarging the satchel, she repeated her actions from when she first moved to her new home, though this time there were far more clothes that soared into the wardrobe, and her ritual kit and books lay on top of the flat desk rather than find niches to fit into.

_In clear view is not a safe place to keep those_, she thought. There were several drawers for storing supplies, and she found one that was just deep enough for her illegal belongings. Keeping them from sight was a good start, but there were no locks on the doors, and even if there were, she expected that the staff likely had complete access to any student's possessions. She would have to protect her kit with magic in addition to deception.

She would not need extra power for this. It was a simple matter of warding a single cabinet, thankfully; widening her connection twice this night was already dancing on the edge of destruction, and a third occurrence posed entirely too much risk. She raised her hands and held them out to the desk, gathering the currents of magic that ran through the room. First she flicked one finger, then another, and soon her hands were twisting as if she was directing the actions of a stage full of marionettes. The magic in the room gained a distinct ozone smell as some of it curled and weaved around the desk before shrinking down to surround the drawer she was interested in. With a final tug, she tightened her ward into an oblong shape, one that more or less conformed to the cabinet's outer surface.

_That will have to do_, she supposed, taking in its structure and rigidity. She moved her kit into the drawer and laid another charm on top of it, one that would prevent anyone from paying attention to it. Satisfied that her defenses would work in the short term, she arranged Loki's perch for when he eventually forgave her, stripped off her clothing, and crawled into bed. It had been a long day, after all.

* * *

**Much of Dumbledore's speech comes directly from _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_, first American edition. A lot of this is stuff you already know, and I'm sorry about that, but I hope Jen's commentary at least kept you entertained.**

**By the way, does no one else think that _pumpkin juice_ would probably taste absolutely terrible? I enjoy pumpkin pie and toasted pumpkin seeds to a degree, but based on what the raw flesh tastes like, I'm not going to drink its juice.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	12. Settling In

**Aleucard:** The prophecy won't be revealed for a long while, not until OotP. My muse doesn't want any of the characters in this story to be _evil_ (minus Voldie and the Death Munchers, of course), so old Albie will be misguided but with good intentions. **_Don't_** take this as me saying that he and Jen will ever see eye-to-eye, or even get along.

**Armacryss:** The hair in front of her face is just her fringe, which are cut to come down to her cheekbones, not the length of the rest of her hair. I knew a couple of girls in high school who had their bangs arranged like that, and aside from some second glances, no one ever bothered them about it. The other students were too busy stuffing their faces to pay attention to the new girl sniffing her drink.

**InsanitySorrow 2.0:** Read the response to Aleucard for my thoughts on Dumbledore. This prophecy is from Trelawny and replaces the one from canon. Jen's magic is different in that she doesn't use formal spells. Where Sirius, for instance, guides his magic into a certain form through wand motions and incantations, she analyzes what she wants and how it would work, then _forces_ her magic to do that. It's inefficient, follows an entirely different path to achieve the same result, and takes a bit of practice and research (recall the books on physics she had in chapter 2) before she stops screwing a new spell up, but it yields an entirely new perspective on magical theory.

**Honest Lunar Raven:** The first task is a definite keeper, though I'm still sorting out the others. There will be more tasks; six is my goal, but I'll settle for five. It seems most of the school policies are dedicated to dividing the Houses. Part of the reason Sirius went looking for Jen in the first place is that he _knew_ she was a witch, even if tests said she wasn't. Since she doesn't have the Horcrux in her head, _something_ had to cause the dissonance after Voldie's attack; enter Dumbledore and his paranoia.

Moody is probably the only person who she can easily identify by shape, for a few reasons. Each material responds differently to magic, having a distinct "texture", if you will. She could feel the concentrated magic in the eye, and the leg was both wooden and enchanted, making it stand out. Individual faces are similar in shape, and it's visual clues we mostly use to distinguish people, which is part of the reason Jen can't recognize her friends when scrying; please note that this does _not_ apply to facial expressions, which distort the forehead, nose, cheeks, and lips enough for her to make out. Scars are very different from skin, being made up of mostly acellular fibrous tissue (like tendons) rather than sheets of cells; it's why scars don't stretch well as children age and never tan.

**It's that sad time, my friends. This is the last pre-written chapter of _Princess of the Blacks_, so there will be a bit of a lag as I try to balance publishing all three of my stories. I'm hoping — _hoping_ — to get one chapter done a week, but doing well in my classes comes first.**

**Disclaimer:** Did the Gryffindors ever have House rules to follow? If not, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.

* * *

**Chapter 12  
****Settling In**

The rain had stopped by the next morning, though the air still possessed a crisp bite. Jen woke early and, after attempting to return to sleep, packed her satchel with her course books, parchment, quill, and ink before strolling downstairs to the common room. She waited for other students to rise, aiming to wile away the time by examining the books in the room's enormous library.

The Ravenclaw's common room was circular due to taking up an entire level of the tower, and packed with overstuffed armchairs that would be extremely comfortable to curl up and read in. Two large fireplaces, situated between the door to the rest of the castle and the stairs that led to the dorms, provided heat to counter the cold stones of the uncarpeted floor. The walls, too, were stone, but there were hidden behind curved bookcases that covered every square inch of available space, from the floor all the way to the ceiling. Ladders were attached to rails on the shelves for access to the highest books.

"Enjoying the decor, Ms. Black?" a squeaky voice asked from behind her. She redirected her sonar and identified the short figure of her head of house.

"That I am, Professor Flitwick." Turning to face him, she continued, "I take it that this is our monthly meeting?"

"I see Professor McGonagall has explained the process to you. We need to meet once a month at a _minimum_, but as I tell the first years, my door is always open. Come, let us adjourn to my office." He led her out the door and to a portrait a few dozen feet down the hall. "Curiosity is fundamental," he said, and the painting swung inwards to allow them through.

The room revealed by the opening portrait was a perfect size for someone of goblin heritage, with every item being miniature besides the two chairs in front of the desk that she supposed were meant for guests. A ring of low bookshelves surrounded him, though there were not as many books here as she expected; likely he only kept the various resources he needed as a professor in here, with his personal reading in his private rooms. Swords and warhammers were displayed above the shelves, and a tapestry was hanging behind a bench on his side of the desk. She sat in one chair and declined Flitwick's offer of tea.

"Well then, now that we are situated, I would like to discuss the house rules with you. The library you were admiring is open to all students, regardless of year, though the higher on the shelf a book is, the more it is geared towards upper level students. Private collections are, of course, allowed, but it is your responsibility to keep track of your books when they are in the common room. If you lay one down and forget about it, someone else could very easily mistake it for a House book and shelve with the rest or use it for their own purposes."

"I'll be sure to do that, Professor. Several of the texts I brought with me have special significance to the family, and I really don't want to be the one to lose them." She shuddered; Andi liked the library at home to be _just so_, and the Baron help anyone who messed it up. If she _lost_ a book, not even hiding in Antarctica would keep the woman from tracking her down.

"In that case, I ask that you be especially cautious. Now, I hope you and your roommate are not having any difficulties —"

"Professor? Mandy Brocklehurst was supposed to be the girl I shared with, but she said that she preferred staying in Li and Turpin's room, so I could have one to myself. That isn't a problem, is it?"

Flitwick stroked his mustache for a moment. "It is highly irregular, but if none of the four of you have an issue, I see no need to interfere. Understand that I will be asking the other girls to verify what you have told me."

"Of course, sir."

"Very good. Ravenclaw is the home of the intelligent, so we strive to excel in our studies. I expect to see all Os and Es at the end of each term, or I will call you in here for a much less pleasant chat than this; the same is true if you fail an assignment. There are a number of sixth and seventh years who are available for tutoring in all subjects if you feel you need assistance, and they post the times for their sessions on the notice board. You may also approach me or the other professors for further explanations or more work if you need additional practice with a spell. Any questions so far?" Jen shook her head.

"I don't want you to think that we're all about grades, however. Social interactions are just as important as your assignment scores, so I encourage all my Claws to spend an hour per day with your peers engaged in something other than schoolwork. You could join one of the school clubs, work on an extracurricular project, or just relax with your friends. Anything that will keep you from pushing yourself so far that you burn out; that is the worst thing you can do. As with asking for tutors, I trust you to be mature and responsible enough to arrange your schedule without me having to look over your shoulder.

"There are forty individuals in your year, which means the student body is too large for us to keep the houses together for all the classes and still keep a weather eye out for any catastrophes. Therefore, you will share each of the core classes besides Astronomy with one other house, and electives will have all four represented.

"You may have heard of the conflicts between the Gryffindors and Slytherins?"

"I have," she replied, curious about the apparent _non sequitur_.

"Then you know that the worst place to stand is between them. The Muggle playwright Shakespeare once penned, _'the better part of valor is discretion'_; if you find yourself in a situation that appears to be on the threshold of violence, seek shelter and leave them to their quarrel." Flitwick leaned forward over his desk, "I would prefer that you not become involved, even if one of the combatants is your brother."

Jen stiffened, how did he know? "I am unsure of what you imply, Professor."

He gave her a feeble smile. "Professor McGonagall pulled me aside after the feast last night and explained your… _unique_ circumstances. For instance, I know about your disability. I admire the tenacity with which you have overcome it, but if you find yourself in need of help, _please_ swallow your pride and ask."

"Who else has she told?" she demanded, furious that detail about her personal life was being spread without her consent. If the rumor mill was even half as good as Tracey had said, the entire school would know before the day was out!

"_Pax_, Ms. Black. She has told only me, and I have told no one. Your secret is safe, but as your head of house, I _have_ to be informed of such students so I might provide any special assistance as needed. I also know of your talent for wandless magic and, as I have said, your parentage. You may have heard your mother was a favorite of mine in school, so let me put your mind at ease; that Lily would treat any child, her own flesh and blood in particular, like she has done to you is abhorrent and not how anyone I wish to know would behave."

Her voice was grim as she stated, "Lily Potter is not my mother. I am a Black, and that is the only family that I want to be associated with. As for the actions of my 'brother', what he does is his concern so long as I am not dragged into it. My only intention as of this moment is to have nothing to do with him."

"Laudable, all things considered. Now, about your wandless magic…" Jen sighed, causing Flitwick to chuckle. "Revealing that talent was perhaps not the best option in hindsight, was it? Take heed, many of your peers will be jealous if they see you eschew a wand, and there are some who will consider it a sign of dark magic. Have you formulated a plan to avoid this, or would you care for some advice?"

"My aunts felt I should err on the side of caution, so I brought a blank wand with me for appearance's sake. Is that sufficient?"

"It should be, so long as you ensure that you carry it with you at all times and use it whenever it is possible for someone to observe you performing magic." He looked at the clock and clapped his hands in surprise. "Goodness, it is almost time for breakfast. Come, I will escort you to the Great Hall."

* * *

They arrived only a short time after the first platters of food appeared, and her guide departed for the staff table while she made for the only table that was half-full. She found a smattering of Slytherins present, though Tracey was not among them, while Hufflepuff had a dozen of the lower years piled at the end of their table nearest to the door. Of Gryffindor there were none. Many of the students here were still mostly asleep, and there were even a few who had decided that the hard wooden table made for a usable pillow. Some of them, thankfully, were alert.

She sat gently beside Padma. The Hindi girl was eating a bowl of porridge mechanically, but at least she was conscious enough to notice someone joining her. "Good morning," Jen chirped in an intentionally cheery voice, gaining a glare and an incomprehensible mental grumbling.

Padma roughly swallowed her food and stabbed her spoon into the bowl as if killing her breakfast would persuade the sun to go away and come back later. "Why are you so happy?"

"I had a good night's sleep and a productive meeting with Flitwick this morning. Also, it annoys people, which in turn amuses me." Much like their temper, most Blacks shared a somewhat wicked sense of humor, though only Sirius had to resort to childish pranks for a laugh. "Did you stay up too late last night?"

The other girl muttered something that sounded suspiciously like _'Bite me'_ and continued with her meal. Understanding that further attempts at conversation would be meaningless, Jen pulled trays of eggs, bacon, tomatoes, and toast to her and piled food onto her own plate.

By the time she had finished, her metabolism still running high from forcing her body to rapidly heal twice in a single day, most of the school had found their way to the Great Hall and begun eating. Morag, like Jen, was a devotee of the full breakfast, while Luna, who had calmly meandered to a nearby seat, mixed together equal parts of porridge and sugar to use as a dip for her sausages while she listened to some seventh years discuss the costs and benefits of de-aging themselves to enter the Tournament for the junior champion slot. Pushing her plate away, Jen turned to Morag and asked, "Do you know what classes we have today?"

"Aye, I do." The girl glanced back at the schedule she had pulled from the center of the table. "We've only Transfiguration with the Slytherins this morning, which won't be too bad; McGonagall likes her lions best, but she's not blatantly unfair. This afternoon is all electives. Care of Magical Creatures right after lunch, and then… ugh, two periods of Divination or Arithmancy back to back. That's going to be _fun_."

"It won't be too bad," Padma contradicted, looking at her own chart. "Not as bad as Thursday, at least. Herbology and Runes in the morning, back to Runes after lunch, and then straight to Defense, with Astronomy that night."

"You forgot Muggle Studies, it's the same time as Runes. It's a very important subject, you know." Morag held a serious face for a moment before both girls burst into laughter.

Shaking her head at the people she seemed to be drawn to, Jen turned to Luna. "And what's your day like?"

Luna's head shot up in surprise, and she sucked the last bit of the sausage she was eating into her mouth with great force. "Care with Hagrid first, then Arithmancy for me, too. This afternoon it's Transfiguration and Defense. Perhaps I'll find out what happened to Professor Moody's wrackspurts."

"Okay, now I'm curious. You mentioned twillcks yesterday, and now wrackspurts; just what are you talking about?"

"They're made-up creatures that get printed about in the _Quibbler_," interjected an older boy. "Everyone knows they aren't real except for Loony."

"They are real, even if books haven't been written about them. Daddy and I have seen them." Luna's voice was sharper, missing most of its singsong quality, and Jen raised an unseen eyebrow at the girl's sudden change in demeanor.

She sent a calming spell under the table at both of them. "Leaving aside the question of whether or not they exist, I'm still wondering what they are."

"They're invisible animals. Wrackspurts can make your head go all fuzzy, and twillcks are floating worms that slurp up people's thoughts."

Padma jumped into the conversation. "If they're invisible, then how can you and your father see them?"

"We have to use spectrespecs for most of them, but you can hear twillcks chattering if you listen closely. Wrackspurts, on the other hand, have shells that shine in just the right light."

_Well, that was a waste of my time. Twillcks and wrackspurts do indeed sound like hallucinations, no more real than the metaphorical man in the —_ Jen's train of thought jerked to a stop, her blood running cold as she replayed each of the three conversations she had with Luna. _Metaphors. Wrackspurts are seen around people with confusion, or perhaps __**aren't**__ seen around the clear-headed. The rumors I heard this morning make Moody out to be highly paranoid, someone who is constantly aware of his surroundings. If that's true, then…_ "Luna, do I have wrackspurts flying around me?"

The third year peered closely at her. "You did, but they all just floated away. Most of them are buzzing around the two next to you, now."

_Buzzing around Padma and Morag because they're confused about what we're talking about. I was right; Luna and her father are seeing things that aren't real, or at least aren't tangible. It's an additional magical sense, like my sonar, probably a hereditary ability. And if I'm right, the 'twillcks' that told her my name were **my own damn** **mental probes!** She traced them back into my head when I tried to read her mind on the train!_

Pushing her thoughts to the back of her head to percolate a little more, she resolved both to never attempt to lift Luna's thoughts and to get some old editions of the _Quibbler_. If the _'imaginary creatures'_ the articles spoke of were manifestations of the Lovegood family's abilities, then identifying them could shed some light on exactly what she was dealing with.

She picked her bag off of the floor and stood. "Well, if we have a block of free time, I'm going to look around the castle. Second period starts at ten o'clock, right?" Upon receiving nods from all three of the girls, she walked through the front doors and down the hallway. The pounding of a pair of feet from behind her caused her to turn around. "Was there something else you wanted, Morag?"

The girl shook her head as she approached. "Nah, I just figured you'd need someone with you in case you got lost. You know that only about half the castle is even occupied, right?"

"No, I didn't." Getting lost in an area of the castle where no one would even look for her, wouldn't _that_ be embarrassing. "So I take it that you're my guide?"

"Why not? I doubt you know where the classrooms are, and McGonagall gets right mad if you're late. Besides, it's not like we have anything else to do."

* * *

The two girls had only a few minutes to spare when they arrived on the fourth floor, where the Transfiguration classroom and McGonagall's office were located. Now that she had walked through the myriad of hallways and passages, Jen was quite glad that Morag had elected to travel with her; several times she would have been lost were it not for the Scot's experience. The trip had been worth it, though, for she now possessed a mental map of the various classrooms and the layout of those sections of the castle. The only one she had not visited was the Arithmancy class, as much to her own chagrin Morag had chosen to take Divination. Considering that the tower the class met in was constantly filled with incense and the professor was obsessed with predicting Potter's death, she could understand her companion's displeasure.

Turning the corner brought her to three people standing outside the class. One of them had a moderate magical core, though it was a tad small, but the other two had cores that were totally at odds with their height and girth. She reached out her mind to catch a glimpse of their identities and mentally smirked; at least she wouldn't have to seek out Draco Malfoy.

"Black," he drawled out. From the movements of his head, he was looking Morag up and down. "At least one of the people you've had surrounding you is the proper sort, even if she's not far removed from Mudblood stock."

Morag shot for her wand, and it was only Jen's hand on her arm that kept her from pulling it from her pocket. The blind girl kept her voice neutral as she responded, "Draco Malfoy, I'm surprised at you; Aunt Narcissa would be beside herself if she heard you use such an uncouth term. And what do you mean, _'one of the people'?"_

"The Muggle-lover hasn't been teaching you properly if you don't even know that. The Blacks are a vassal house to Malfoy, so our image will be ruined if you spend all your time with nutjobs and wogs."

Jen drew herself up to her full height. "You walk around with two gormless apes and yet you have the audacity to tell _me_ who I should associate with?" She had listened to the two other boys' thoughts, or what apparently passed for thoughts. They were clearly not cut out to be criminal masterminds; she had never encountered minds that worked that slowly. "Someone has misinformed you, as well. Why would you ever think that the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black would be a vassal to a House that gained Noble status only two generations ago? No, if anything it is _your_ House serving _mine_."

"How dare you! The —"

"I dare because I am not beholden to a foolish delusion, like some people I could name," Jen said as she interrupted his rant; this had gone on long enough as it was. "Now remove yourself from my presence and reflect on how you should properly address your betters."

Malfoy drew his wand, only to have it summoned out of his hand. For good measure, she did the same to his lackeys' wands as well. "You are a Pureblood, Malfoy; you know what a bad idea it is to turn your wand on the scion of an Ancient House. I'll have pity on you this time, however." She spun on her heel and flung the three foci down the hallway.

"You'll be sorry, Black! When my father hears about this —"

"You should be more worried about what will happen when your mother hears about it." Jen passed by the boy, silently daring him to give her a reason to loose her temper on him. Unfortunately, Malfoy did possess some form of self-preservation, as he only sneered at her and Morag. The boys ran after their wands as the girls walked into the classroom and just missed the clock chiming ten. Finding a pair of seats near Tracey, she tapped Morag's shoulder and took the space in the middle of the table.

"What was all that about?" the Slytherin asked while Jen pulled out her writing implements.

"I'm crossing Malfoy off the list of possible allies," she whispered in response, feeling McGonagall entering from a side door. "I'll tell you more after class."

"Dammit, I always miss the good stuff."

* * *

Jen walked out of the Transfiguration classroom with the rest of the class, her mind frantically trying to clear her confusion. For the first hour, McGonagall had delivered a complicated lecture on transforming hedgehogs into pincushions. The fourth year was still unsure why someone would want to use a hedgehog for _any_ transfiguration and why, if ever in need of a pincushion to begin with, she couldn't simply conjure one, but these weren't even her main concerns.

Not once did the professor discuss the creature's anatomy! She knew from personal experience that ignoring internal structures when transforming an animal inevitably led to organs bursting out exactly when she didn't want them to, and yet McGonagall, who was considered a master in her field, hadn't mentioned that risk. It wasn't that she was behind the rest of the class, as neither Morag nor Tracey knew anything about hedgehogs besides that they were painful to sit on but otherwise impossible to find in a haystack — a long and embarrassing story, Tracey had told them with a grimace — but that still didn't explain why the woman spent so much of her time on each wand movement's importance rather than insuring they weren't covered in blood or feces by the end of the period. Was there this large a gap between how wands worked and what she was accustomed to doing?

McGonagall had eventually called on her to attempt the spell, so she assumed that the hedgehogs were little different from mice and hoped for the best. While she was correct in this instance, she would look for books on comparative anatomy in the school and Ravenclaw library. An explosion of offal later in the year would not be appreciated.

She just hoped that her other classes wouldn't be this difficult.

* * *

There was no need to worry, she soon discovered. After a quick lunch and a fruitless period in the presence of Madam Pince, she attended her first ever Arithmancy class. The professor there, Septima Vector, was only twenty-six — shockingly young for a Mistress of any field — and did not so much lecture as bounce around the classroom while chattering away at high speed. She certainly knew her subject, though, and was capable of breaking down what turned out to be an extremely intricate discipline into easy to comprehend chunks.

Jen had molded magic for years, but never had she realized the sheer number of aspects involved in even a simple spell. Vector demonstrated a basic charm to create a point of light, which the class referred to as _Lumos_, then proceeded to write its equation and variables on the blackboard. Color, diameter, strength, distance of origin from wand; by the time she had added the eighth and final component, the class's collective jaw had dropped in incredulity. The only thing that put a damper on the double period was that the Granger girl who followed Potter around couldn't keep her hand down and her mouth shut to save her life.

The next morning, she and the other Ravenclaws left the castle bright and early for Herbology, again with the Slytherins, where they squeezed foul-smelling fluid out of the disturbing lovechild of cattails and an enormous pimple, which Sprout called Bubotubers. Jen knew this wouldn't be her favorite course; after just one period, she was already contemplating burning the blasted greenhouses to the ground to avoid this class.

History of Magic was no better. She started drifting off the moment Binns spoke the first word of his lesson, and soon she succumbed to the sandman's efforts. The other Ravens and Badgers did the same, and Turpin quietly informed her afterwards that they read the book to learn the subject rather than pay attention to the specter, and they never bothered writing the essays he assigned. The final exams were graded by the other teachers, but house elves vanished the actual homework. Nodding, she mentally marked the two relevant blocks on her schedule as free time; if all she would do was fall asleep, there was no need to waste her time and attend the class.

Charms was the first time she had the misfortune of being in close proximity to Potter. She could feel him staring at her the entire period, and she couldn't even demand he stop without calling attention to the issue and revealing to Flitwick that she wasn't half as apathetic towards the boy as she claimed. By the time she left, her temper was so hot that she nearly flash-fried a younger student who made the mistake of walking too slowly in front of her.

Thursday brought Ancient Runes. The class was taught by Bathsheba Babbling, who was as old and frail as Vector was young and boisterous. Potter must have spoken to his friends about her, for Granger kept taking surreptitious glances at her. Thankfully, the rest of the previous day had been Lion free, so Jen had time to calm herself and was therefore able to ignore her watcher. When she again felt eyes flicking in her direction after lunch, she elected to forget patience and placed a compulsion on the girl to avoid looking at her. The spell was relatively weak, but it was still enough for the rest of the day. The class itself was mildly engaging, though when she spoke to Babbling immediately afterwards, she was disappointed to learn that Hogwarts students didn't learn how to create and activate runic scripts until N.E.W.T. level. She would simply have to practice Ogham on her own.

Astronomy was, in her humble opinion, a complete and utter waste of time. Ironically, the reason for her thoughts wasn't that she couldn't see through the telescope, though that was certainly true. No, what irritated her was that there were no forms of magic that required knowledge of the stars. The only celestial body that had any effect on them was the moon, but that was easily identifiable with the naked eye. Luna was kind enough to interrupt her rant during lunch the next day and informed her that Astronomy had no N.E.W.T. option, so very few students concentrated on the subject beyond what they needed to pass, not even the other Ravenclaws. Jen could have kissed her for that.

Introductions to two classes were especially interesting, however, and not in a good way.

* * *

The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs wound their way down the hallways to the dungeons, still shaking off the effects of their History class. _Was that ghost capable of wandless sleeping magic while he was alive?_, Jen wondered. The rapidity with which her stupor overtook her was evidence for that thought, but the fact that she was affected no more than her classmates meant it likely wasn't a spell that was used on them. Binns simply was _that_ boring. A Badger she had yet to meet opened the door, and the students trooped inside.

_The laboratory is quite nice_, she thought. Each round desk had spaces for three students and their individual cauldrons, with fires produced by a cluster of runes set in a small depression. The shelves on the walls were filled with jars of all shapes and sizes; she wondered if they contained ingredients the professor had yet to render or thought were unusual.

Speaking of the instructor, she was, appropriately, giddy as a schoolgirl to be in a class taught by Potions Master Severus Snape. He was one of the youngest Masters of that field in the world, and she had heard he was an absolute _genius_ at reaction analysis. Elsie may have made a living producing and selling potions, but she had never attended formal schooling; Snape would have a great deal more knowledge to impart. She just hoped that his skill in teaching was equal to his skill in brewing.

She sat at a table near the desk and was surprised when Susan and an unknown boy took the other two seats. "This is the girl I was telling you about the other day. Jen, I want you to meet Ernie MacMillan; he's another of my housemates."

"Charmed," MacMillan said in such a pompous voice that she had to force herself not to react in disgust.

"I'm sure", she replied noncommittally, then turned to Susan. "Why hasn't anyone taken out parchment yet? Does Professor Snape not lecture first like the other teachers?"

Susan shook her head. "Snape never lectures, not unless someone really fouls their potion up, and then he just gets nasty about it. He does give essays, though, and they're never good enough for him. How can he expect us to know enough to do his assignment if he doesn't teach us?"

This told Jen everything she needed to know._ He must be a stereotypical prodigy. Potions was always simple for him, so he doesn't know how to explain the subject to anyone who has trouble. Combine that with perfectionism, and average students likely drive him to pull his hair out. This class… won't be easy._

The man in question chose that moment to slam the door open and stride in, his cloak billowing in his wake like a sail flapping in the breeze. He stalked to the desk and picked up a sheet of parchment. "Quiet down," he said unnecessarily; as soon as the students saw him, they dropped their conversations and gave him their full attention. "Hannah Abbott."

"Here, sir."

"Jennifer —" He stopped speaking as he stared at the roll, then a sneer twisted his face and he spat, "Jennifer _Black_."

She was understandably startled at the emotion the man showed towards her. What could have caused such antagonism? "I'm here, professor."

Snape glared at her a moment longer, then returned to the list. "Susan Bones."

Jen pondered over his actions as he called out each name. She had never even met the man, so she surely couldn't have offended him. Then there was the way he treated her surname; was there bad blood between her family and his? That was the only rational explanation she could conceive of for what happened.

The professor rolled up his parchment and carelessly tossed it onto the desk. "You will be making Thickening Solution today. Ingredients are in the cabinet," a flick of his wand opened a door she hadn't noticed, "instructions are on the board," another motion smeared magic upon the slate on the wall above his desk. "You have until the end of the period."

Susan volunteered to get the ingredients, so Jen and Ernie tended to the fires under the cauldrons that were already sitting on the desktop. The boy simply lit the pits, but she took additional time to set her flame to the perfect temperature. In a way, Snape couldn't have assigned a better potion for her.

Most potions were naturally inert, requiring someone to ingest them so that they could react with the stored magic in the drinker's core before they worked. Jen had no core, so those potions were useless for her. The Thickening Solution, true to its name, increased the viscosity of any potion it was added to, allowing it to be used as a cream for topical use, but it also was one of the few potions that contained its own magic, activating whatever it was mixed with before it was applied to the skin. Needless to say, Jen had become quite familiar and comfortable with brewing it out of pure necessity.

Susan quickly returned with enough ingredients for all three of them, and Jen organized her share in the order she would need them. With a few rough chops, she dumped a handful of daisy roots into the cauldron and moved onto skinning the next component while they stewed for five minutes.

"Th-that's not what the instructions say to do," Susan said timidly, but Jen was no longer listening. Shredding ginger, stirring the concoction twenty times clockwise, grinding fish spines into powder; she was totally involved in her task, working with the single-mindedness that Elsie had imparted to her. The ninety minutes passed quickly, and Jen finally ladled some of her completed potion into a labeled vial and stoppered it. She looked at the remainder in the cauldron and sighed. She did not want to waste it, but she saw none of the other students saving any.

She shifted her attention to the professor for the first time since she began working and bit back a gasp of surprise. Where he had expressed anger before, now his face was contorted into a hideous mask while he radiated pure loathing. A bell tolled in the distance.

"All of you, get out. Black, stay behind," he snarled. The two Badgers sitting by her offered weak smiles, but Jen waved them on, ignoring the sympathetic looks she received from the rest of the students.

Once the class was empty, he stalked over to her table. "I don't know how you did it, but rest assured, I _will_ figure it out. I will not abide _cheaters_ in my class, no matter how the other faculty treat you."

"Cheat, sir?" When had she cheated; in fact, how could anyone cheat when they were right in front of him? Susan's words came back to her, and she nearly groaned out loud. She had been so caught up in her routine that she hadn't realized the class was using a different set of directions.

"Yes, Black, cheat," he purred, a tone more disconcerting than any he had yet used. "For someone to come into my class without any experience in Potions and brew even an adequate example of a Thickening Solution, let alone Videki's reduced formulation, simply beggars belief."

_Thank goodness, I just might be able to turn this around._ "Professor, I do have experience in brewing. I was tutored for several years, and Potions was one of the courses we focused on most."

"Do you expect me to believe that the spawn of Sirius Black would put effort in anything beyond being a rule-breaking nuisance? Forty points from Ravenclaw for lying to a teacher!"

Jen took a deep breath to prevent herself from immediately speaking; Snape was already in a rage, and she knew from experience that thoughtlessly responding could end very, _very_ badly for her. "Professor Snape, you seem to be laboring under a misconception. Sirius is my Family Head, _not_ my father."

"You dare to disrespect me, you —" His voice halted, then he cast a shrewd glance at her. "Not… your father?"

"No, sir. He and I are from two separate branches of the family." Now that her teacher was making no moves to continue his diatribe, she picked up her bag. "If that is all, Professor," she said, then left the room. _Maybe coming here was the wrong decision, after all._

Snape stood in place, the gears of his mind churning relentlessly. He looked again at the vial he held and rolled it under his thumb briefly before setting in on the table. "We'll see, Ms. Black. We'll see."

* * *

Jen slipped quietly into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom a few moments before class started and took the only available desk. It was at the Gryffindor/Ravenclaw boundary, adjacent to another male Lion and behind the two Patil sisters, who were speaking softly in their native tongue. She barely had to wait before they all heard Moody clunking down the hallway, then entering the room.

"You can put those away," he rasped once he had settled himself at his desk. "You won't need your books today." Almost as one, the class put away their textbooks. He then pulled a roll out of the desk and, like Snape had, called out each name before looking at them with his prosthetic eye. He didn't hate her on sight, thankfully, though she did notice that he gave certain students, those from traditionally Dark families, a more intense examination.

"Right then," the scarred man said once all the students were accounted for, "I've had a letter from Professor Lupin about this class. Seems you've had a pretty thorough grounding in tackling dark creatures — boggarts, Red Caps, hinkypunks, grindlylows, Kappas, and werewolves."

The class nodded unnecessarily.

"But you're behind — dangerously behind, in fact — on dealing with curses. I've got one year to bring you up to scratch on what wizards can do to each other —"

A student in one of the front rows — Weasley, she thought — blurted out, "What, aren't you staying?" Moody's eye swiveled to focus on the boy who, Jen suddenly realized, was the other dolt who ran into her in Flourish and Blott's that summer.

"You'll be Arthur Weasley's son, eh? I worked alongside him in the last war with Voldemort," many in the class shivered in fear, Weasley among them, "good man, your father. Yeah, I'm staying one year here as a favor to Dumbledore, then back to my well-deserved retirement.

"So, let's get started. Curses come in many forms, and trust me when I say there's no way to learn a specific defense for all of them. The Ministry of Magic," he growled the name out, "told me I'm supposed to teach you just the more common countercurses and leave the gritty details for the older years. But Professor Dumbledore's got a higher opinion of you than that, and I say the sooner you know what you're up against, the better. I'm going to show you just what dark wizards are capable of so you'll be prepared, you'll be alert. You'll put that away, Ms. Brown, when I'm talking."

A girl two seats down from Jen blushed and returned her parchment to her bag.

Moody stood and pulled a fist-sized glass jar from his desk. "Who here has heard of the Unforgivable Curses?"

What followed was a test of their nerves. Three spiders, three fates. One was enlarged and held under the Cruciatus Curse until it was catatonic, not reacting even when Moody grabbed it by the pedipalps and tossed it into the air several times. Another was put under the Killing Curse, and Jen could swear that she felt a cold wind caress her as the creature died. The most disturbing, however, was the demonstration of the Imperius Curse.

That curse was the first performed, and she watched as the spider was forced to dance and turn cartwheels, eventually climbing up the edge of a glass of water and drowning itself. Moody spoke of the followers of the Dark Lord who declared they had been victims of that curse and of the total control the caster had. _That_ was one part of the lesson she understood immediately, for every time police investigated _Candyland_, she had held them under a spell exactly like this and maneuvered them into various poses with some of the youngest employees while she took photos. They didn't remember what they did, since she wiped their minds of the encounter and compelled them to dismiss the reports of a local child brothel as an urban legend, but Richard still possessed blackmail on over a dozen bobbies. Blackmail that, she just learned, could land her in Azkaban if wizards ever got ahold of it and questioned him.

The students were subdued after that, and they took notes on the three curses until they were dismissed. She smiled and sighed in relief when Dumbledore announced at dinner that night that DADA would be canceled the next day; one period with Moody this week was more than enough for her.

* * *

She climbed up the stairs to the North tower, her legs burning from the exertion. She had just finished her second Potions class — Snape had watched with a curious eye but otherwise ignored her — and she refused to spend the last period of a Friday sleeping in Binns's room. From her observations, she could miss the first half of dinner without anyone becoming too suspicious, which meant she had three hours to do whatever she wished, and she knew exactly what that was.

Jen smiled as she threw off the trapdoor and stepped onto the open platform. A few deep breaths of the clean air revitalized her, and then she vaulted over the edge.

* * *

**Until you sit down and work it out, you have _no idea_ how much of a headache it is using what little information canon gives us and trying to figure out what the weekly class schedule should be for the different years and houses. We don't even know what Gryffindor's schedule is, and that's the house of the main character! Thankfully, I won't have to go through this crap again.**

**Jen doesn't like her first taste of wandwork, does she? I've already said there are major differences between her magic and everyone else's, so it's probably a good thing she's used to private study. As for the graphic consequences of a botched transfiguration, I've obviously spent too much time in the anatomy lab.**

**My wonderful yet occasionally trying muse has decided that she's going to do something different (like she doesn't have anything else to work on); many stories portray Snape as either an evil bastard as per canon or a caring, sensitive, kissing-babies-and-playing-with-puppies man under a prickly shell. He's going to be somewhere in the middle here, much closer to the former, but he won't, for instance, try to frame two people and have them executed. Doesn't mean he wouldn't read their obituaries with great satisfaction.**

**As for his behavior, I truly doubt, even in canon, that he harangues all of the non-Slytherin students; there are some children in other houses with political connections powerful enough to crush him. For instance, do you really see him bullying Susan, whose aunt is the _head of the DMLE?_ Jen isn't a Gryffindor or his worst enemy's child, so Snape can cool down and view her as the heiress of an Ancient house, and therefore off-limits.**

**Parts of Moody's lecture come from, you guessed it, _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_, first American edition. If you aren't already sick of reading this disclaimer, you will be before the year's out. Jen doesn't realize how little the magical and Muggle worlds interact, hence her worry over the blackmail.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	13. Little Red Riding Hood

**InsanitySorrow 2.0:** If you're thinking about FMA's Alchemy, than yes, Jen's transfiguration is similar to that, but that doesn't exist in the HP-verse. She doesn't need a _lot_ of concentration unless she's either trying something she's never done before (like transfiguring hedgehogs) or is drawing on more magic than she's used to (so it doesn't kill her). Lily accepting Jen's "Squibdom" is for the same reason that canon Hermione erased her parents' memories of her: the Wizarding World's views just worm their way inside you over the course of seven years at Hogwarts. Ha ha, I wish I could put the "twenty-sex" down to a typo, but I was writing the chapter while thinking about a later scene between Luna and Jen. It's been fixed, now.

**Armacryss:** Doesn't everyone hate Draco? I'll admit there were some fanon versions I didn't mind reading, but in canon he's a raised-from-the-tit neo-Nazi who got cold feet when he had to do more than talk. I've got no ideas why they study Astronomy. Keep cracking the jokes; they make me laugh.

**The Mad Mad Reviewer:** Snape in canon, especially in books 3 and 5, struck me as crossing that line between "asshole" and "evil". By 7, not even his "redemption" (read: creepy obsession with Lily and getting killed for being a self-serving traitor) could make me like him. The worst part? His backstory gives him so much potential, but Rowling just wasted it. As for Moody, I have _no idea_ what you mean…

**Zarosian Chaos:** That depends a lot on exactly how you think the Ministry detects magic. It likely won't come up in this story, but in _Faery Heroes_ I had them put a magic-detecting ward around Privet Drive specifically to detect Harry using magic. There wasn't such a sensor in Avryporth, or Little Whinging in this AU, now that I think about it. Anyway, in my stories most students get in trouble because of the Trace on their wands, not at their homes. Good question, though!

**While writing my response to Mystolon's and Zarosian Chaos's reviews, I realized that some of you might think I'm just hand-waving your questions away. I want you to know that I'm not; every time you ask why X happened when you were expecting Y or what character Z was thinking, it helps me flesh out the world I'm building for this story.**

**Disclaimer:** Did Harry just dismiss that Remus Lupin was a werewolf, a creature with a horrible reputation even in the Muggle world? If so, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.

* * *

**Chapter 13  
****Little Red Riding Hood**

_Jen smiled as she threw off the trapdoor and stepped onto the open platform. A few deep breaths of the clean air revitalized her, and then she vaulted over the edge._

* * *

There was no greater exhilaration than diving through the air at terminal velocity. The wind swept by her with a cold whistle, the sweat streaming from her pores wicked away before she could even notice it. The distance to the ground was shortening: already she was at the fourth floor… third… second… first…

She threw the magic she held before her away from the castle wall, and the 'tube' that chased it turned in the new direction. Eight feet from the ground she executed a 120 degree turn that would have broken her spine had she not been so perfectly limp. As it was, her feet continued on their previous path until the very last minute, whipping her legs around and spinning her like a ship plunging to the depths of a monstrous whirlpool. Her grin stretched to Cheshire proportions, then a snicker broke through, and finally her melodic laughter rang through the air as she flew away from the school. Floating and twisting in the wind with nothing to support her was perfection, the panacea to any and all stress.

With the barest thought, the tube collapsed into the orb it had pursued and weakened the gravity well, making it just enough to negate the Earth's tenacious pull and leave her weightless in the sky. She was tempted, so incredibly tempted, to hang here for the next few hours and relax properly. Unfortunately, there were errands she had to attend to, and she needed to consult her aunts and godfather.

She sighed and lazily drifted behind the orb toward the dome of the wards, taking no pains to hide herself from view. Perhaps if she had known about her dumbfounded watcher, she would have been more wary.

* * *

Jen sprinted through the entrance hall of Grimmauld Place. Once she had crossed the threshold of the wards, she regained total awareness of the property; to her surprise, there were five beings in the house. Sirius, Cissy, and Kreacher were expected, and Andi wasn't that great of a surprise, but the last was an unknown. Touching his mind revealed nothing but senseless, feral rage and a mental impression of sweat and old blood. There was a _werewolf_ in the kitchen with her family!

She ran past the stairwell and swung by the drawing room to summon a silver candlestick, and a moment of concentration reformed it into a dagger. _Transfiguration is so much easier when you don't use animals as the base_, she thought mirthlessly. By now she had descended the stairs and was a heartbeat away from kicking the door in and hurling the knife when she noticed something: none of the people inside were projecting any fear or aggression, nor had they since she first became aware of the newcomer's presence.

_How odd,_ she thought. The one werewolf she had had the _pleasure_ of dealing with had been little more than a rabid beast even on two legs; Elsie had killed him by stabbing a silver potion knife into the base of his skull after he decided she would make a wonderful addition to his pack and chased her into the basement, shedding his human guise as he did. Needless to say, she had developed a distrust to their kind that she held to this day.

Still, the unknown man was apparently a guest. Rather than dart into the room like she first planned, she took a moment to catch her breath and force her expression into one of nonchalance, then she almost casually opened the door and sauntered through, hiding her fear with haughtiness. "So, what's for tea?"

"Jen!" Sirius shouted, echoed immediately by Andi. Cissy had dropped her cup in surprise and was more concerned with removing the hot liquid from her robes before it scalded her. "You should be in school!"

"I would normally agree, but visiting you was just a _little higher_," she held the thumb and index of her left hand a few millimeters apart, "on my priority list than taking a nap in History. Of course, if you don't want to see me, I can spend the next couple of hours with Aunt Cissy and Aunt Andi, instead."

He shook his head rapidly. "No, no, that wasn't what I meant at all. How did you get here, though; I don't think Hogwarts has changed enough since I attended for students to just pop away on a trip whenever they felt like it."

"I snuck out," she said with a shrug, ignoring his false tears of pride and joy at her rule-breaking. "By the way, who's your… friend?"

"Remus Lupin," the werewolf said, though he didn't stand, hold out his hand, or give more than a weak smile. His attention was focused completely on the weapon she still grasped in her right hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Black, though I think this is the first time someone's pulled out the silver _before_ I introduced myself."

Sirius switched his gaze between the two of them a few times before he finally noticed the dagger. "Er, Remus is a good guy, Jen. There's no need to have that with you."

She sat in the chair next to Cissy and laid the knife on the table, still in easy reach. "All the wards told me was that there was a werewolf here. I figured it was best to take some basic precautions."

"Well," Andi said brightly in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere, "I for one am glad you decided to visit us. Now we get to ask all the questions we had in person instead of through a letter."

"I see we don't need to ask what House you were Sorted into, however," Cissy rebutted with a look at her tie.

Jen smiled at her aunts. "Yes, I'm in Ravenclaw, but I was considered for Slytherin, as well. _Apparently_, the worst match was Hufflepuff, though the Gryffindors would have found me far too calm and sensible for their wild natures. No offense, Sirius."

"Oh, there is much taken," he joked. "I think that deserves three — no, five — pranks this Christmas, and you can't do your whole 'reflect them, but make them a hundred times worse' trick, either."

Her jaw dropped; was he really pinning the blame for that on _her_? "That was your fault, and you know it. Maybe now you'll think twice about conjuring thirty pounds of honey and feathers and trying to turn me into a five and a half foot chicken."

"You stuck me to the wall and had the feathers poke me for over an hour!"

"When a dog makes a mess on the carpet, the only thing you can do to keep him from doing so again is rub his nose in it."

Sirius spluttered as the sisters chuckled at the byplay. Lupin, too, was smiling behind his cup.

Kreacher chose that moment to float her tea and some biscuits over. "Kreacher's favorite was the prank bad Master pulled on the full moon." As one, the adults of her family shuffled awkwardly.

"Dare I ask?" their guest questioned.

"I freely admit this one wasn't in the best taste," Sirius muttered. "Or in good taste at all. I used some transfiguration on myself to look like how Muggles envision werewolves; the patchy fur and the blunt claws and the short teeth, you know what I mean. Then I stalked up behind her while she was reading and howled in her ear."

"It was the startling me that made my retaliation last as long as it did." She was still kicking herself over letting her guard down. No one had ever been able to sneak up on her, but on that day she discovered that the Notice-Me-Not worked on her sonar just as well as it did on sight and hearing. To use the favorite phrase of her Defense teacher, she needed to be constantly vigilant to feel through the charm.

Lupin groaned. "What happened next?"

"For the next three days, all the utensils, lamps, candlesticks, and doorknobs burned me if I touched them. She also had a dark cloud pelting me with a hail of tin oval things."

She shrugged. "I have to work within my limits. It's not like I can conjure actual silver bullets."

Lupin dropped his head, and Sirius grimaced. "Like I said, not in good taste."

"You think so, do you?" Lupin growled as he rose from his chair. Jen reached out and grabbed the handle of the dagger in front of her; the blade clinked against the table, an innocuous sound, but one that cut through the werewolf's anger and reminded him of the current situation. He glanced at her, then sat back down. "Then again, you always were one to prank first and consider the consequences later."

Andi once more tried to salvage the conversation. "Yes, we've been working to break him of that habit. So Jen, you said you're playing hooky from History, but how do you like your other classes?"

Jen gave a brief description of which subjects she had liked and which she could happily do without. Everyone had a laugh at her first experience with Herbology, and Sirius was making plans under his breath about how he would punish Snape for his attitude, but it was her Charms class that again had Lupin sticking his foot in his mouth.

"So I'm doing my best to pay attention to Flitwick, but Potter is _still_ staring at me like he's hoping to drill a hole through my head —"

"I'm sure he wasn't _that _bad, but your arguments with James and Lily didn't leave him with a very good impression. You two need to sit down and talk the situation out; maybe you could even become friends if you got to know each other. Danny has always been easy to get along with."

She growled at Lupin, "Did anyone ask for your input, werewolf?"

"_Jen!"_

She ignored Sirius's rebuke. "What's more, you make the mistake of believing I give a damn if Potter thinks well of me or not. His opinion is worth less than nothing. Besides, I have far better things to do than cosy up to an obnoxious, spoiled brat. Even Draco Malfoy was less annoying!"

"Dear Merlin, what am I going to do with that child?" Cissy groaned. "What did he say?"

A blush revealed Jen's embarrassment; she had somehow forgotten that the boy's mother was the woman sitting right next to her! "Let's see, he began his little spiel with claiming we were vassals to the Malfoys; then he called the Pureblood girl with me, who is one of the first friends I made in Ravenclaw, a Mudblood; and he ended by referring to two of my other friends as a 'nutjob' and a 'wog'. Honestly, Auntie, I don't know how you deal with your husband if he is where Draco learned this behavior from."

"Sometimes I wonder myself. And yes, that was pure Lucius; he had the same lack of subtlety when he was young, too. How did you respond?"

"I restrained myself from causing any bodily harm, don't worry. I only summoned his wand and threw it down the corridor, causing him to be late for Transfiguration. Ah, that reminds me; unless you want to make a liar out of me —"

"Because you would _never_ lie if it suits your purposes."

"— you need to send him a letter taking him to task," she continued as if Cissy hadn't interrupted her. "He mentioned that I'd regret _'when his father heard about this'_, and I told him he should be more concerned with what you would do."

The older woman sat back in her chair and started murmuring under her breath about idiot blond dandies, leaving Jen to shift her attention on the others. Sirius and Lupin were having a heated discussion under a silencing charm, but Andi was drinking her tea with a smirk, so she erected her own soundproof barrier around them. "Aunt Andi, something strange happened during my Sorting, and I was hoping that you could explain it to me."

Andi raised an eyebrow but nodded, so Jen took a breath and revealed what had been puzzling her the entire week. "I refused to let the Sorting Hat peruse my memories, and instead it had to ram its way inside. The thing is, it wasn't the one examining me; there was another voice talking, which the Hat called 'Lady Hogwarts'."

"Ignoring that you were foolish enough to pick a fight with a millennium-old artifact, you actually spoke to Hogwarts itself?"

"That's what I don't get," she huffed. "It's a castle, not a person. How can it be alive?"

Her aunt pursed her lips for a moment as she thought. "Hogwarts isn't _alive_, per se, though many tales have sprung up that point to it having an intelligence of some sort. I've read accounts of other locations across the world that are the same; each was ancient, but that is where the similarities end. For instance, there are ruins in the New World that can control their own defenses when cursebreakers come to loot them, and the nursery of the Egyptian wizard-kings' palace is said to comfort and protect any child that is brought inside. Rumors suggest that Beauxbatons in France is beginning to act similarly to how Hogwarts did several hundred years ago, but it will be a long time before it can be considered in the same league."

Jen frowned and asked, "Doesn't anyone have any ideas about why these places behave like they do?"

"Of course there are. Some believe that all of them were built by an even more ancient race, like the Atlanteans or beings from the stars." The two shared a laugh at that absurdity. "One theory that was espoused a century ago was that they were built on the wellsprings of magic that supplied different regions of the world. More recently, though, arithmancers have suggested that it's because they all have a strong connection to life or death."

_That makes sense. Some Voodoo rituals use sacrifices as a power source, whether those deaths are of animals or other humans. In fact, the one that gave me my connection to the world's magic consumed three of Those Bastards in addition to my own core._

"Thanks, Aunt Andi, that was what I was wondering." She removed the spell around them and focused on Sirius, who had dropped his silencing charm and was reciting to Cissy and Lupin issues he had with a bill currently before the Wizengamot.

* * *

Ravenclaw was the home of the curious and intelligent. To the Muggleborn and Muggle-raised, that implied that it was a sanctuary from the harassment that they had seen or perhaps been the victims of in their primary schools. Even Jen, who had an education no one could call conventional, believed this. Then she witnessed the scene in the common room upon her return to the school, and the rage the Blacks were infamous for boiled over.

Luna was backed against the wall next to the fireplace, and three older girls were crowding her and occasionally firing stinging hexes while everyone else in the room either watched or tried their best to ignore the entire confrontation. One of the bullies, who Jen recognized as the much maligned Cho Chang, spoke. "When are you going to get it through your thick skull that you aren't welcome here? Ravenclaw has no place for crazies like you; the entire Lovegood family is a stain on our illustrious reputation."

"Please, I need my ink and quills. My grades are going to drop if I can't do any of the assignments."

"Maybe one of your pretend creatures took them, the Snoring Hummer or Winking Splatters or whatever else your father writes about in that stupid rag of his. I guess you'll have to spend a few weeks looking throughout the school for your stuff; it's not like anyone will help. No one wants to be friends with a loser like you."

Jen remembered at the last moment to draw the blank wand, and then she struck. Two nets of razor wire flew at Chang's minions, wrapping them up and drawing significant volumes of blood. A flick of her wrist had Chang soaring through the air in a parody of her own actions earlier, but she at least didn't crash into a wall at full speed.

"I'm afraid I must disagree with your assessment," she snarled, then she stepped on the restrained girls to where Luna was hunched over. "How long were they working on you?"

"Not that long. I'm fine."

She sighed. "If you're too hurt to stand up straight, you're not fine. Let's get you to the nurse."

"Who do you think you are!" Change shouted as she clumsily climbed to her feet, still unsteady from her head's introduction to the bookshelf. "I am a prefect, and you'll do as I say unless you want a detention with Filch!"

Again Jen aimed at the older girl, but this time it wasn't a wave of force that she released. Instead, she sent a bolt of lightning. Though the discharge lasted only a moment, Chang crumpled and moaned loudly as steam wafted off her skin. "Stay down, bitch."

Before she could decide on her next attack, the door to the tower opened noisily and their head of House rushed in. "Who in Merlin's name cast —" He stopped in his tracks as he saw the two girls bleeding, Jen standing in front of Luna with her wand out, and Chang lying on the floor in obvious pain. "I want answers. _Now_."

Seeing that Chang couldn't be bothered to answer, Jen turned towards the man. "I came into the common room a minute ago to see Chang and her cronies bullying Luna. They were hexing her and laughing about stealing her supplies so she couldn't do any homework. Obviously, I took exception to the whole situation. If Chang hadn't threatened me as well, she wouldn't look like she tangoed with a power line."

Flitwick sneered at the tormentors much like his goblin cousins would have at a thief. "Ms. Black, I can't let the use of such dangerous magic go unpunished — unfortunately — so you have detention for the next two evenings. I am confining you to the library, where you'll research other spells you could have used to incapacitate Ms. Chang instead of electrocuting her. There is no need to document your findings.

"Ms. Lovegood, how long has this been going on?"

Luna shrugged with a wince. "Since November of my first year."

"I see. Mr. Edden, Ms. Starling, Mr. Reidinger, what _possible_ reason did you have to neglect bringing this to my attention?"

None of the prefects present answered him, so he repeated the question in a tone that brooked no argument. They glanced at each other, and one of them muttered, "It's just Loony, sir. She keeps talking about animals that aren't real, and we're tired of it. We thought that if she saw her delusions weren't wanted, she'd stop bringing them up."

"Oh, _really?_ Just _Loony_, hmm? In that case, perhaps I need to rethink my choice of prefects." He summoned the four students' badges, then he turned to the House as a whole. "Why didn't any of the rest of you come to me when you saw how Ms. Lovegood was being treated?"

Morag reluctantly stepped forward. "I can't speak for everyone, but some of us were threatened by the prefects as well. They also said you didn't care what happened in the tower as long as it stayed here."

"That, Ms. MacDougal, is the biggest load of thestral shit I have heard in years. They lied because they knew I would do far worse to them than they could even conceive of doing to you, something all of you should have realized had you thought about it for a moment. Frankly, I don't believe there is any excuse for your actions, either as individuals or a group. I would say that you should be ashamed of yourselves, but I don't know if some of you are capable of shame.

"Fifty points will be taken from each prefect for failure to stop this atrocious behavior, either directly or by informing me. Ms. Chang, Ms. Edgecomb, Ms. Desford, one-hundred and fifty points will be taken from you for bullying. In addition, you eight will serve detentions for the rest of the term with Professor Hagrid or Mr. Filch, whoever has the more revolting or onerous chore at the time, and the two prefects who are not here have lost their positions as well. Never in the history of Ravenclaw House have we had our house points be a negative number, and I cannot tell you how disgusted I am that I have to see it.

"Someone haul these three to the hospital wing; I don't care who. I have to inform Professor Dumbledore that we have no prefects. Also, there will be a mandatory House meeting tonight. _Do not_ test my patience by refusing to show up." His speech delivered, he stalked out of the room.

Jen took the opportunity to make her own statement. "From now on, Luna Lovegood is under the aegis of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. If any of you decide to be as idiotic as these three," she stomped on one of Marietta's hands, everyone cringing at the snap of breaking bones, "I will take it as a personal insult, and you will _wish_ you were in Chang's position right now when I get through with you.

"Luna, we're going to see Pomfrey." The entrance closing behind them was deafening in the tower's silence.

* * *

**In Jeconais's story _This Means War_ (it's on fanficauthors dot com, and one of the _only_ Harry/Ginny stories I've ever liked), werewolves who accepted and reveled in their infection were capable of forcing the change in the day or two before and after the full moon. That story is what I'm deriving Jen's encounter from.**

**Remember how in chapter 4 I said that Voodoo was classified as a Black Art and punishable by death in most of the civilized world? This is why.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	14. Progress Report

**whitetigerwolf:** I doubt I'll ever write the House meeting (it sums up as, "This is not how I expect my students to behave, and if you want to act like five year olds, I'll treat you as such"), but I'll see if I can fit Malfoy's scolding in next chapter.

**InsanitySorrow 2.0:** I always took issue with the idea that a _quarter goblin_ would let one of his students be bullied. It's never said that Chang is a prefect, but then again, nothing says she _isn't_ : ) And yes, I found her just as irritating. Jen's scared of werewolves, but whether she had interactions with other species is up in the air. Not even _I_ know what all happened in Candyland, and I'm writing the damn story!

**Jayjay37:** Glad you approve! Hogwarts is essentially growing an artificial intelligence; if you've ever watched _Star Trek: TNG_ (and if you haven't, shame on you), it's like the computer on the Enterprise. I wasn't planning on showing what would happen to Malfoy, but since I've now gotten two reviews essentially demanding it, I guess I'm forced to do so : )

**ArmyWife22079:** I've never heard of an HP cookbook before, unofficial or not; you really do learn something new every day. Moony is angry at _Jen_, actually. He maintained his friendship with the Potters after that Halloween night, believed that she was a Squib, and had a hand in raising Danny. So, he loves them while she hates them, and neither one will move from their position to try to find some middle ground.

**Almost 5,000 words. Longer than any previous chapter (not counting 12, since that was originally two chapters I decided to stick together), and yet it didn't cover _anything_ I wanted it to; instead, it changed some things I had planned and left me in a bit of a fit. It's just… aagh! Honestly, I'm tempted at this point to completely scrap my notes and just go wherever the muse leads me.**

**Disclaimer:** Did Madam Pomfrey (or anyone, really) ever suggest a magical treatment for Harry's vision problems? If not, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.

* * *

**Chapter 14  
****Progress Report**

The end of September brought the first staff meeting of the year, and for once Filius Flitwick was dreading it. He had elected not to explain the sudden drop in house points after that initial week, which spawned a slew of rumors ranging from the logical to the absurd. _Like my students are foolish enough to get caught breeding an enormous eagle to eat annoying first years; the key phrase here being 'get caught'. Based on what I've learned recently, I can't put it past them to have tried it._

Years ago, Albus had handed almost all of his Headmaster duties to Minerva due to his multiple roles in the government. This was understandable to a degree, but she had been incapable of completing the tasks necessary to run the school in addition to her other responsibilities, namely teaching and keeping a firm hand on the Gryffindors. She had, in turn, deputized Filius to assist _her_, thereby putting him in the same position. They had both chosen to let their prefects handle the day-to-day operation of the houses while they concentrated their efforts elsewhere; in his case, that had been a terrible mistake.

The fact was, highly intelligent children may find trouble less often, but when they did, the situation inevitably became extraordinarily complicated. Without him keeping an eye out, the older students had organized a social hierarchy with themselves at the peak; younger students were obligated to run errands for them — what errands his seventh years wanted done he was afraid to ask, though the stores of firewhiskey and Playwizard magazines gave him a few clues — or face severe hexing, and tutors would charge money or sexual favors for their time, depending on their pupils' ages. This had apparently been going on for years, starting with the delinquents who filled the class of '85.

He sat down in his chair in the staff room and, with a swish of his wand, enlarged it so he could see over the top of the table. As he was the last teacher to enter, Albus waved his hand and closed the doors. Most of the others in the room still felt some awe every time the Headmaster used wandless magic, but he had been watching Ms. Black perform magic in his class for the past month. Compared to the casual ease she displayed, Albus was a novice content with mere parlor tricks.

"We have survived the start of a new school year. Does anyone have any specific business to bring up?"

"I do," offered Pomona. "I was hoping Filius could tell us why the Ravenclaw prefects were removed from the patrol roster."

He sighed. "That would be because I had to strip their positions from them after it was brought to my attention that they were abusing their authority and bullying the younger students, in particular Ms. Lovegood."

There were gasps throughout the room, and he continued, "That is also why we still have negative house points and why Mr. Filch has been so busy overseeing detentions recently. I do apologize for the inconvenience, Pomona. Related to that topic," he turned to Minerva, "I'm afraid you will need to enlist someone else's help with administrative duties. Now that I know my students aren't mature enough to supervise themselves, I am far too busy."

"Minerva, what does Filius mean?" Albus asked with a frown.

"I've been splitting the work you constantly pass over to me with him so I can at least _try_ to balance my many hats," she said, directing a glare at him. "There's a reason the Headmaster isn't allowed to hold other positions in Hogwarts, and it's _not_ so he can play politics in London or Avignon!"

Aurora cut in, steering the conversation back to its original course. "Who was it that brought the situation to light?"

"Ms. Black," he replied with more than a hint of pride. Was September too early to start considering the next year's prefects?

"And that is a perfect segue to the purpose of this meeting. Let us discuss the new students, starting with Ms. Black."

Septima was the first to respond to Albus's prompt. "She's certainly intelligent. Already she's tied with Ms. Granger for top spot amongst my fourth years, and it isn't uncommon for her to stay behind after class to ask a few questions that are only tangentially related to the day's lesson. Most of them are about practical applications, as well."

"Ms. Black spoke to me on that same subject the first week," wheezed Bathsheba, "but I believe I impressed on her the folly of experimenting with runes until she has someone with experience supervising."

_I wouldn't bet on that_, he thought. _She is the type to exercise caution but still do it anyway._

Pomona frowned. "I can tell that she doesn't like Herbology, though I wish she wouldn't be quite so blatant about it. At least she does the work I assign without complaining where I can hear her, unlike some others I could name."

"I'm keeping an eye on her. Those Blacks will stab you in the back if they get the chance," Alastor growled before he took a swig from his flask.

"You view even the first years with suspicion," Filius retorted. "She has a talent for charms, though whether that's natural or a result of practice I cannot determine. And might I say, I'm surprised and pleased I haven't needed to jump on you for lambasting her because of her name like you do Mr. Potter, Severus."

"I treat Potter exactly how an arrogant popinjay with delusions of adequacy deserves," the dour man returned, dismissing the rebukes from the others. "As for Ms. Black, she is competent, if inconsistent. For some potions she ignores the directions, but on others she needs them explained to her multiple times. Ironically, the former method yields the better result."

Aurora sighed. "There are so many students to deal with that I'm afraid I haven't had the pleasure of speaking with her."

"Just be sure you keep the teasing and bawdy humor to a minimum; as her Head of House, I can tell you that she will respond in kind, and there are still a few children too innocent to gaze down the roads you two will invariably travel."

The entire staff laughed at that image; the Astronomy teacher was a very attractive thirty-eight year old who found no diversion more entertaining than reducing cocky teenagers to a blushing mess. Initially her habit had been met with disapproval, but they warmed to her once they were sure she was not attempting to lure students into her bed.

Albus turned to Minerva. "You are being rather quiet. Is Ms. Black having difficulties in Transfiguration?"

"While she's no prodigy like she is in Charms, her work is acceptable, though like Pomona I have observed her being rather bored in my class. What really bothers me is what Mr. Potter told me about an confrontation between them; the only reason she didn't serve detention was that I wasn't there to see it."

"Er, Minerva?" Filius offered. "You might want to take Mr. Potter's testimony with a grain of salt. I _was_ there, and I'd say he shares responsibility."

_He sighed as Mr. Potter bustled out of the room ahead of everyone else. Normally he stayed out of simple disagreements between students, but the boy's obvious antipathy towards Ms. Black was beginning to distract the others. He turned to his desk to write a note for Minerva when voices in the hallway caused him to peer outside._

"_What do you want, Potter?" Ms. Black asked coldly._

_Mr. Potter stood between the quarter-goblin and the girl, flanked by his two best friends. "An apology would be a good place to start."_

_She scoffed at that declaration. "I have done nothing to you worth feeling remorse for."_

"_Oh, yeah? Then what do you call assaulting my dad and insulting my mum?"_

"_Two fools getting what they deserve."_

_That answer was clearly not what Mr. Potter expected, as he gaped before reddening. "My parents aren't fools, Black! They're good people —"_

"_Which by no means keeps them from being fools. In fact, I've found that the two traits go hand in hand quite often; 'good people' don't know when to stay away from where they aren't wanted. Even getting burned can't teach them not to play with fire."_

_While Filius was certainly curious about the basis of that perspective, he also knew that he wouldn't get an answer if he asked. If anything, it was likely doing so would ruin the still fragile rapport he was building with his newest 'Claw. Instead, he stepped out of classroom to prevent the situation from escalating._

_He should have intervened sooner._

"_Now, if that is all, Potter, I have better things to do with my time than waste it in your presence." She turned and began walking off, but Mr. Potter reached out and grabbed her arm. Faster than the boy could react, she spun back around and punched him; surprised and in pain, he let go to staunch the blood flowing from his nose. His friends reached for their wands, but not before hers appeared in her hands. Thankfully, she simply petrified them before turning her attention back to her brother._

"_Lay your hand on me again, and I'll break it off," she whispered, but the sound was ominously magnified to echo around them in the empty corridor. Seemingly satisfied that her threat would be heeded, she left, the other children and Filius himself staring after her in shock._

He returned his eyes to the other staff. "Mr. Potter instigated the situation, and Ms. Black resolved it. All things considered, I felt it best that the matter stay closed."

"But —"

"But nothing, Minerva. To the best of my knowledge — and I assure you, I have paid close attention — Ms. Black has not begun a fight since her arrival. The same could not be said for Mr. Potter, or have you forgotten that he challenged Mr. Malfoy to a duel their first week here?"

"Yes, we understand, Filius," Albus said in a placating tone. "Unless there is anything else concerning Ms. Black, have any of you observed issues among the first years…"

* * *

"Ms. Black, stay behind."

Jen frowned slightly at the Potions Master's demand, but waved Susan and Justin away. Macmillan had decided after two weeks of sharing a table with her that he couldn't deal with the way she ignored his advances, so he returned to his partnership with the shy Kevin Entwhistle. This had actually been a boon, for about half the potions Snape wanted them to brew she had never heard of before, and her need to ask Susan to read the directions aloud would have eventually required giving away information she would much rather keep to herself.

Once the door was closed, Snape stalked over and stared down at her. "I believe it is time you offered an explanation."

"Explanation?"

"Yes. You are incredibly inconsistent with your work; no one with the ability to brew Videki's reduction or the Essence of Peace should need elaboration on instructions so simple even the most brainless dunderhead can follow them. Unless, that is, you were cheating all along like I first suspected. I see glimmers of skill in you, so you have this _one_ chance to explain yourself before I haul you in front of Dumbledore and demand you be expelled for academic misconduct. I suggest you take it."

_Bloody fuck on Legba's crutch, how do I get into these situations? If I don't tell him, I'll be expelled, but if I do, I'll have given a valuable secret to someone who has the means and, considering the grudge between him and Sirius, possibly motive to ruin me. Unless…_

"Let's say I tell you. What assurance do I have that you won't spread it around?"

Snape sneered at her. "None whatsoever. I will not sit around and negotiate with you when it makes no difference to me whether or not you are still in this castle tomorrow."

"Don't lie, Professor. You wouldn't have given me my _'one chance'_ if you weren't curious about the reason." Needing a bargaining chip, she slipped into his mind — _lazy of him not to keep his Occlumency shields up at all times, but I'm not complaining_ — and rooted around. She quickly found out more than she could have possibly hoped for. "Besides, I think you are quite interested in making a deal with me."

"And why is that?"

She smiled sweetly. "Because you don't want it getting around to Sirius that _you_ are the real reason he's impotent. At the moment he assumes it's a result of the Dementors, but if he found out that it was due to some Draught of Eternal Chastity finding it's way into his firewhiskey in '81…" Her grin widened and gained an evil edge at the man's shellshocked expression. "Messing with an Ancient House? Poor form, sir, very poor form."

He staggered back, displaying tremendous fear for someone reputed to be a stoic. She knew it had been an ill-conceived bout of revenge, one that he wouldn't even consider attempting now that he was older, but that didn't change the fact that just brewing the potion in question carried a sentence of five years in Azkaban. That he used it on the now Head of the Black family could see him spend the rest of his life there. "So, are you sure won't negotiate with me?"

"What do you want, Black?"

"Nothing too onerous. We both have secrets we want to keep quiet, but since we _can't_, I'd say a mutual vow of silence should suffice."

He reluctantly drew his wand and pointed it at the ceiling, only to pause at her laughter. "What could you possibly find so amusing about this?"

"You think I'll settle for a mere magical oath? That won't guarantee you keep this to yourself, only that you'll pay for breaking it afterwards. No, we'll use something a little more effective." She flicked the pad of her index finger with her thumbnail, magically splitting the skin, and drew a circle on the table with her blood. After riffling through her memories, she added the appropriate runes from the books she had studied earlier in the summer. _This is the first time I've used these. __**Please**__ don't let me screw up; that would be… messy._

"Blood magic is dark, Black. I will not be party to this."

"Coming from a man who _invents_ dark spells, I don't really think you have much of a fucking choice. Or would you also like me to inform the DMLE who was responsible for arming the Death Eaters with _Sectumsempra_?" At his rapid denial, she pointed to the sigil. "Trace the circle with your blood. We don't have all day, unless you want your next class to see this."

He did so, and she grasped his wrist while he did the same to her. "I, Jennifer Black, do hereby swear on the blood I have spilled to keep secret what I have and will learn about Severus Snape that he does not wish known, provided he does the same for me."

Snape looked at her in shock, doubtless because of the implications of her broad wording. Not only did she imply she knew more of his dirty laundry, she also pledged to keep it safe. Considering that included his actions as a Death Eater, she had just made herself an accomplice. "I, Severus Snape, do hereby swear on the blood I have spilled to keep secret what I have and will learn about Jennifer Black that she does not wish known, provided she does the same for me."

"So mote it be."

With a ear-piercing screech, the circle rose from the table and writhed like epileptic snakes. The runes split and rejoined, becoming a ribbon of blood that wrapped around their clasped limbs and sank into the skin. Jen shook her hand out while Snape just stared at his own in shock.

There was a good reason blood magic was considered to be nearly Black. Long before Muggles discovered DNA, the wizards knew that their blood contained the very essence of who they were. Because of that, it was always connected to the person it belonged to, regardless of the distance separating them, and spells cast on blood could relay the effect to the donor. Crafting a pact to keep secrets was barely scratching the surface of this form of magic; an unscrupulous witch with just a few drops of the precious fluid could do anything from granting a man luck beyond his wildest imagination to turning him into a mindless slave. There were rumors that it could even be used to reincorporate the dead or keep the living from crossing the Veil. As the Succubi said, _'All life comes first from blood'_.

The nature of blood was also one of the many reasons why those involved in the Pureblood movement were so vehement against Muggleborns joining the Magical World. They believed that not only did their blood tell who they were and what they were capable of as individuals, it also recorded their families' entire histories. It was more than a matter of pride; it was a matter of faith, nearly ancestor worship. So, when someone new to their world came along and said that blood didn't matter in the slightest, they took it as a slap to their most basic values and an attack on their religion. Even some families who hadn't supported Voldemort hated Muggleborns for this reason. The gulf between the two groups couldn't be wider if it had been made intentionally.

"Why would you do this?" Snape asked as he lifted his eyes from his hand.

_Because you're observant and way too smart. While we both know those things happened, no court would accept my word on events from before my birth, and I'm not a registered mind-reader or Legilimencer or whatever it's called. This vow is meant to protect anything else you manage to discern, and I needed it before you regained your balance and called my bluff._ "Like I said, we both have our secrets. If I don't trust you with mine, and you don't trust me with yours, then it makes sense we take out a little insurance." It also had the advantage of making them conspirators, in a sense, rather than enemies. She had made enough of those in the past month.

He swallowed nervously; apparently this was outside of his comfort zone. "That I participated in this at all is to stay between us."

"_Obviously_. I don't want to go to Azkaban any more than you do."

They were silent for a minute or two, letting what they had done sink in, before Snape sat at the table with her. "What could be so important about your brewing that you desire this level of security?"

"The fact that I can brew at all. Susan occasionally reads the instructions for the day's potion to me because I can't see."

"All this cloak and dagger nonsense is to hide the fact that you need _glasses_?" he snarled, sneer back on his face. "You miserable, arrogant, foolish —"

She held up her hand. "No, I don't need glasses, Snape." She reached behind her head and pulled loose the knot of her blindfold. His eyes followed it as she laid it on the table, then they rose to met hers and he flinched backwards. She couldn't blame him; she had looked at her own eyes when scrying once and had been shocked at the milky glaze covering not just the iris, but the entire surface of the globe. Not only had the bleach destroyed her sight, it burned the surrounding skin so badly that fibrous scar tissue now held her eyes facing in different directions. "I'm totally blind."

"Yet no one realized that was the case; I never would have guessed. How have you hidden it for so long?"

"We don't know each other well enough for me to tell you that, Professor."

He nodded, then hesitantly leaned forwards and held her head while he took a closer look. "This isn't congenital, is it? Chemical burns, if I don't miss my guess." She nodded back, and he handed her the blindfold. "Put that on and come with me. We're going to have a short chat with Madam Pomfrey."

He strode over to the door and swung it open once she was again presentable. "Get in and start. If you can't keep your childish hyperactivity in line, I'll have you all scraping what's left of your compatriots off the floor in detention."

Most of the third years trembled at his words, but Luna smiled and gave her a thumbs-up as they passed in the hall just outside. _Someday, I'll figure out how the hell she can know what's really going on all the time._

* * *

"Ms. Black, if I may have a word?" Flitwick asked the next morning.

With a sigh, Jen finished packing her satchel and waited for the rest of the class to depart. "What do you wish to talk about, Professor?"

"Just a few things that have come to my attention. For instance, I hear you had an interesting discussion with Madam Pomfrey yesterday? She spoke to me about it at breakfast," he added at the sight of her clenched jaw.

"I forgot the staff tells each other _everything_," she ground out. "Yes, Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape think that they can produce a dilution of the Scar-Diminishing Potion that will be safe to use on my eyes. The hope is that, since the internal structures are healthy, if atrophied, doing so will eventually restore my sight. It will be a longer process than using the regular formula, but it also shouldn't melt my eyeballs."

He chuckled and pulled out a vial capped with an eyedropper that he put on the desk. "As it happens, Professor Snape spent the entire night brewing this. I don't know how, but I'd say you've impressed him."

"Or I simply presented him with a challenge." Nevertheless, she slid the potion into her bag. "How much is in there?"

"Enough for the month, provided you don't waste any. She also wanted me to tell you that she will not use a courier service for the next dose, no matter how much you want to avoid her lair."

She grimaced. When had she escorted Luna to the hospital wing, the smell of disinfectant had overpowered her. She thought the memories of the Dursleys were behind her, but nightmares of that time plagued her the next night. Yesterday had not been so bad, though she had still been in a foul mood afterwards. "If she insists."

"Now, onto the next topic. Some of the other teachers have made informal complaints about your attitude in their classes. You're not in any trouble, but would you like to tell me why you are so disinterested in Herbology and Transfiguration?"

"Herbology is an easy one; I have no plans to spend my time after Hogwarts tending to a garden. If I need potions ingredients, I will buy them, not wrestle with a stubborn plant for an hour to get a few grams of seeds." She relaxed slightly at Flitwick's quick grin; at least he understood where she was coming from. "Transfiguration… it's complicated."

"I would think that would make you pay more attention, not less."

"Oh, no, the material isn't difficult. I meant my reasoning." She pondered for a few moments, then asked, "How much do you know about wandless magic?"

"There isn't much on the subject; so few people have a talent for it, after all. Actually, I think I've learned more from watching you in class this month than I have from all the books I've read. Not even the Headmaster can match the ease you show, and he is considered one of the world's experts on it."

"He and I approach wandless magic very differently. His background is in using a wand, and he therefore structures his spells with motions and incantations before he casts them just like he would do were he still wielding a focus. I, on the other hand, have never used a wand; can't, in fact. I take an unstructured approach, telling my magic what I want done and how would be easiest to do so, and then letting my subconscious deal with all the little details."

She paused, barely controlling a snicker at his undisguised fascination. "While there are several other incongruities between the 'ordered' and 'freeform' methods, what is important here is how they differ in respect to Transfiguration. Tell me, sir, how many spells does Professor McGonagall teach in total during the seven years someone can take her class?"

"I don't have exact numbers, but I would imagine several hundred to a thousand."

"I use one." This time she did laugh at his expression. "If I know what I'm using as a base, and what it's supposed to be, I can make the change. Admittedly, I need a _highly_ detailed description of something if I haven't been around it before, and there are only a few types of animals I have spent enough time learning about to keep them from exploding… Quite frankly, it's often easier to just conjure what I want rather than transfigure it.

"Anyway, that's why I don't pay attention in her class. The theory she lectures on doesn't mesh with how I use magic, and she can't teach me details I need to ensure I'm successful. So, I tune her out and finish other work until she calls on me to demonstrate the day's objective."

"That does sound like quite a problem. Are there other subjects you find yourself having issues in?"

"Well, I can't see through the telescope, so Astronomy's a bust, and I'm using History as a study period. Frankly, though, the biggest disappointment is how much time we waste instead of actually doing magic."

"Excuse me?"

She sighed, that probably wasn't the best way to phrase it. "Before I came here, I used large volumes of magic, day in and day out." Setting up tables, cleaning the stage, replacing empty bottles of liquor from the cellar, scrubbing the floors. There were many things that could be said about Candyland, but it didn't let her be lazy. "Now, I cast a spell or two in three classes, sit around on my bum for the other five, can't use magic in the hallways… it's making me restless, which I'm sure isn't helping my concentration."

"Core flooding." He smiled faintly at her confusion. "It's a condition I had to deal with, too, when I switched from dueling to teaching. If you are accustomed to casting a great deal of magic and then change to a more sedentary lifestyle, your core will continue to fill at its regular rate even though you aren't draining the same amount as before. Your core will then 'overflow', in a manner of speaking, causing you to become jittery, insomniac, paranoid, short-tempered, and overall not very good company."

"Exactly." It really wasn't, since she had no core, but the symptoms he described matched what she was experiencing. At least, most of them did; anger had been part of her life since shortly before she was abandoned in London. "Do you have any advice for handling this?"

"There are a couple of methods I know of. You could gradually decrease the amount of magic you cast on a daily basis until you aren't using more than what you need for class." He smiled at the disgust she displayed. "No, it isn't enjoyable; I tried it and immediately chose the other method, which is to take some time each day to repeatedly cast spells until your reserves are nearly empty. Personally, I use the time to keep my dueling skills polished.

"However, this year you have a third option. Tell me, Ms. Black, have you considered participating in the Tri-Wizard Tournament?"

* * *

**Considering how the Potters and Malfoys would likely be political and philosophical rivals, it's not hard to imagine Danny and Malfoy going for each other's throats right out of the gate. Neither McGonagall nor Snape were pleased when they found out about the duel.**

**This marks the end of the "Snape as an antagonist" portion of the story. He'll never be a _nice guy_, but he won't be a heartless monster.**

**The more in-depth explanation of Jen's magical method arose from a conversation I had with Mystolon after posting the last chapter. I know I can be rather abstract when describing concepts, so maybe this helped somebody.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	15. Goat and Donkey

**Tynam Makem:** At least you discovered the problem quickly :) To answer your questions, Jen's sonar isn't "sight", but more of a long-ranged sense of touch (and even that's not a good description, but we don't have anything analogous to it). So, when she regains her sight, she'll have six working senses rather than five; the increased information may get in the way in the beginning, but her scrying keeps the portion of her brain responsible for vision active, meaning the readjustment period will be short. Danny _is_ a stereotypical Lion, but he is powerful for his age, just as Harry was. It never made sense to me in twin-who-lived stories how one child could be a virtual squib and the other be just a step from godhood. I'll show more of the Lovegood gifts, I'm sure; I just don't know when.

**InsanitySorrow 2.0:** It may not be a conflict of interest — that would be more along the lines of having both Minister and Chief Warlock positions— but it makes his depiction as a manipulative Chessmaster that much easier to promote. In light of what Flitwick now knows, he can explain to McGonagall that Jen has her own method and not to bother her about it. Of course, it won't prepare her for the Transfiguration OWL, but she doesn't really care. Let me see, the people who know that Jen was born a Potter are: the Black family; James and Lily; McGonagall, who was there when Jen made the decision to take the Black name; Flitwick, who was informed by McGonagall after Jen went into his House; Dumbledore, who recognized her and confirmed her identity with McGonagall during the Sorting feast; Tracey, who was told by Jen herself on the Express; and Remus, who was told by Sirius when she went home in chapter 13. Looking back at it, this is a _lot_ of people in on the secret…

James and Lily are curious about how she can now use magic, but they're more than a little scared of her obvious hatred for them. On a related note, they did _not_ know that Jen was thrown out at five; like you said, out of sight and out of mind. Most of Magical Britain, if they knew about her existence, would assume like Snape did that she's Sirius's daughter and was in hiding after he was sentenced to Azkaban. As for the timeline, this chapter starts in mid-October.

**Starkid:** I'm glad you'll be sticking around. Yes, Snape was getting back at him for the pranks the Marauders pulled, especially sending him to the Shrieking Shack during a full moon. The Draught essentially gave Sirius permanent erectile dysfunction, hence the name "Eternal Chastity". It was meant to just be embarrassing, making it so Sirius the playboy can't "get it up" around the ladies, but since the Magical World doesn't have _in vitro_ fertilization, it also keeps him from having children. Because of the importance Purebloods put on maintaining family lines, doing that is a major crime, _especially_ with the Ancient Houses.

**Do you remember when I said you'd be reading some of the darker details of Jen's early life starting around book 5? I lied.**

**Disclaimer:** Was Draco Malfoy ever punished for constantly taunting Harry? If not, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.

* * *

**Chapter 15  
****Goat and Donkey**

A knock on the door cut Moody off as he was expounding on the benefits of a piercing hex over the disarming charm. He stalked over, flinging it open with a loud "What!"

In the hallway stood a younger student, probably a second year if Jen was reading his size and core correctly. "P-P-Professor Dumbledore wanted me to give this to you." His message delivered, he scurried away, a frightened mouse fleeing a viper. Moody opened the folded piece of parchment and growled lightly.

"Black, go to the Headmaster's office and take this with you." She rose with her bag and exited, snatching the note from his hand as she passed him. Once in the corridor she sighed, more than happy to be away from the paranoid lunatic. Contrary to popular belief, his creed was not _'Constant Vigilance'_, or at least it wasn't _just_ that. _'Constant Vigilance, and Attack Anyone Who Gets Within Twenty Feet'_ was more apt.

Her feet led her to the Headmaster's Tower as her fingers read a postscript on the note. "I enjoy custard?" she asked the air. "What is that supposed to mean?" With a shrug she continued on, eventually reaching a stone gargoyle.

"Er, I have an appointment," she tried. Magic flowed around the statue for a moment, then stilled, leaving the structure in place.

"The Headmaster wants to see me." Still no change.

"Please move?" Nothing.

"Dumbledore, Hogwarts, tower, office, stairs, entrance, Mugwump, Chief Warlock."

She ground her teeth together. "Not going to cooperate? How about I melt you into a lump of red-hot slag and toss you into the damn lake for the bloody fucking squid to use as a chew toy!" When the gargoyle remained unmoved, she pulled up the sleeves of her robe and gathered magic in her fist before she heard a chuckle.

"That's not going to work," a man's voice said from her left. Since there was no one there, she could only assume it was a portrait speaking. "If you are really supposed to meet with Dumbledore, he would have provided the password."

"Well, he didn't. All the note said was to come to his office and that he likes custard." The obstacle rumbled at her last word and slid to the side. "The password's custard? Seriously? Senile old man and his stubborn rock heap." She aimed a kick at the statue as she walked by.

The Headmaster's office was at the top of a circular flight of stairs. Rather than knock at the wooden door, she simply opened it and went through; if she was late, it was technically his fault. She stopped in her tracks as soon as she crossed the threshold, the magic pouring from every item in the room practically pushing her backwards. Silver instruments sat on shelves by his desk while three chairs were heavily ensorcelled with various comfort charms. A solid gold perch was in the corner of the room next to several bookcases.

_Why would Dumbledore have me come up here and then leave?_ She focused her perception into a sweep of the room and quickly found a muted signature by the staircase leading out of the office and farther up the tower. "It's generally considered inappropriate for an older man to hide himself while watching a young girl."

"Only if the older man doesn't have the young girl's best interests in mind," he replied, dropping whatever spell he was using to mask his presence. "Not many people can find me when I do not wish to be seen. May I ask how you did so?"

"Of course." She said nothing more and sank into the overstuffed armchair across the desk from the Headmaster.

There was a long pause, then he sighed. "How did you find me?"

"With all due respect, sir, that is nothing you need to know." She flashed a smile at his consternated expression. "I said you could ask, not that I would answer."

He gaped at her, then laughed. "I see Ms. Lovegood has been rubbing off on you. That was always one of her mother's favorite mind games."

"Luna has the same habit. She'll twist your words around if she's upset, or happy, or bored, or… anytime, really."

"Yes, I believe I have seen that during dinner many times this past month and a half. While we are on the subject of Ms. Lovegood, I would like to give you my personal thanks for resolving the situation she was in. It is always good when students stand up for their principles."

She waved his words away. "I simply don't like my friends being harassed. Now that the idiots have learned that lesson, we should have no further quarrels."

"Very well. However, I must chastise you for the manner in which you acted. There were many other ways you could have stepped in, none of them as violent."

"Nor as effective." _First praise, then condemnation. Where are you going with this?_ She reached out with her probes and skimmed along the surface of his mind, then pulled away sharply. _You old goat-fucker! No one can be as crazy as you behave and yet have mental shielding, especially not this strong. The whole 'gentle demented old man' has to be an act, one designed to lure in the naive and have them pour their souls out to you. It's effective, too; I know I would have become careless in my comments and spilled something important._

"Ms. Black, witches and wizards with exceptional power have a duty to the entire community to hold themselves to a higher standard than those of only average ability. We should never use force except as a last resort."

She barely withheld a incredulous huff; now that she knew he was this crafty, she would have to be more careful with her words and act how he expected her to act in order to avoid suspicion. "Bullies are thugs who pick on the weak in order to look strong. Fear, anger, pain, these are the languages they best understand. The _'entire community'_ has a right to be free from their depredations, no matter how they must be curtailed."

"I see we must agree to disagree for now," he said with a sigh. "What do you think of your classes?"

"I'm sorry, but I don't see why Hogwarts's Headmaster would be so interested in a single student. Surely the school as a whole is more important?"

"My dear girl, you are the first student to transfer here in half a century. I would be remiss in my duties should I not make inquiries." He smiled cheerfully at her. "Don't worry, anything said shall stay within these walls if that is your concern."

Before she could respond, a thick wad of magic lifted from his head and launched itself at her. The attack was completely unexpected, and she only just managed to put up a barrier. What she now realized was meant to be a mental probe bounced off and fizzled out. Far more wary, she cleared her throat to cover up her pause as she regained her equilibrium.

"They are enjoyable for the most part. Potions and Charms are easily my favorites, though, because there are so many applications for them. Arithmancy and Runes are very interesting, too."

He nodded thoughtfully. "Which classes do you not like as much?"

"Er, I don't think I'll ever be good at Transfiguration. The practical part is fine, but I get lost when Professor McGonagall starts on the theory. Defense, though, is even worse." She leaned in conspiratorially, "Professor Moody scares me a little. Just don't tell him I said that!"

"Have no fear, your secret is safe with me." He reached for a candy dish on the desk. "I can't believe I have been so rude. Would you care for a lemon drop?"

She opened her mouth to tell him no when a fireball burst into existence, depositing a highly magical, swan-sized bird on the perch. It looked at them and trilled, and molten metal poured into her ears.

"Ah, my phoenix companion. Fawkes, this is Ms. Black."

"Hello, Fawkes," she choked out, doing all she could to conceal the liquid fire roasting her brain and pooling in her lungs. "That was quite a trick."

He frowned at her in feigned concern. "Are you all right, my dear? You look a mite pale."

"I'm always pale, sir; it comes with being a Black," she said with a forced smile. "But I do have a cold that's been worsening all day. If you don't mind, I'll take my leave now and see Madam Pomfrey about some Pepper Up before returning to Defense."

"I don't mind at all. Have a good day, Ms. Black, and come visit me any time you wish. It gets lonely in this Tower with only myself to talk to. If I didn't have occasional guests, why, I'd surely go mad."

They shared a laugh, and she walked out the door and down the stairs, just barely keeping herself upright. Now that she no longer had to keep up the act, she slumped against the wall and slid down to the floor. _**Of**__**course**__ he's going to have a bloody phoenix. I wonder what he was thinking; 'I know, I'll get a pet whose noises cause incredible pain to any students who happen to use the Dark Arts. Oh, and if that isn't enough, I'll invite the only Voodoo witch in all of Britain up to have a chat when I know it'll be returning shortly. Surely there's no chance that will give her a seizure or anything.' Sadistic Light bastard._

She hauled herself back up with a grunt, steadying herself with an outstretched arm before searching for a place to sleep the pain off. Thankfully he had called her out of the Thursday afternoon session; it being her last class of the day meant she had an hour or two before she was required to make another appearance.

* * *

Dumbledore grew contemplative after Ms. Black, formerly Potter, left his office. He turned to Fawkes. "Your cry hurt her, didn't it?"

The avatar of the Light nodded sadly and hid his head under his wing to rest.

"This isn't good. Normally your song just makes dark wizards and witches uncomfortable; she must be farther down that path than I thought. I want to help her reform, but being blind to her thoughts makes a rapport that much more difficult to achieve. If only she would let down her guard and trust me!" The girl had impressive Occlumency shields for a student, to his distress. That spoke of great magical strength, as had her periodic flights.

He spun his chair to look out the window, which had an unimpeded view of the North Tower. The first time he saw the girl falling, he thought she was committing suicide. Instead, she had flown without a broom, an act only heard of in tall tales from the New World. To casually violate the laws of magic like that…

"I don't know what to do, Fawkes. She possesses a flawless mask, even by Pureblood standards; without the Prophecy warning me, I would have thought her nothing more than a normal, albeit powerful, teenage girl. Nevertheless, I cannot give up. Two Dark Lords rose on my watch, and I will not allow a Dark Lady to join them."

* * *

Jen's fingers stilled on her copy of _Maji_ as her attention switched to the ringing bell on her bedside table. It was tied to an intent-based ward in the hallway and would only sound if someone crossed the ward's threshold on their way to her room. She laid the book on top of her open ritual kit and spelled them to be unnoticeable just as the door opened.

"Jen, come on! It's almost time for the other schools to arrive," Luna cheered as she rushed in, so similar to a child on a massive sugar rush that Jen couldn't have kept her smile hidden if she tried. Now that her dormmates and Chang's clique were no longer terrorizing her, she had bloomed into a vivacious and whimsical girl. How no one noticed what a gem she could be was utterly mystifying.

Padma slipped inside as Luna settled herself on the bed. "So this is where you were hiding. Morag and Lisa are supposed to save us a good spot, but they won't be able to if we don't hurry."

"Fine, fine, I'm coming. Just give me a minute to put my things away." Dispelling the charm on her belongings, she pulled the book off and accidentally knocked the entire kit onto the floor. "Bugger."

Luna gasped as she scooted away from the bone dagger that had fallen out. "Oh Merlin, that thing's horrid! Why do you have that? What _is_ it?"

"I forgot that your family is sensitive to things like this," Jen muttered as she picked it up and sheathed it. "There, better now?"

The younger girl nodded, but refused to return to her previous position. Padma, on the other hand, crept closer. "A better question is why did you bring ritual materials with you at all? They aren't restricted in India like they are here," she explained to Jen's cocked head. "And don't think you're getting out of explaining what was up with that knife. I may not be sensitive to magic, but even I could tell there was something off about it."

"The kit belonged to my tutor; she passed away last year and left it to me to remember her by. As for the dagger… trust me when I say you're happier not knowing." She put everything back in its drawer and walked out, the two girls following her and peppering her with questions she chose to ignore.

She wasn't lying when she said they didn't want to know. They might be some of her closest friends, and Luna might be extremely perceptive, but they weren't ready to hear the details about her very powerful, very rare, and _very_ _illegal_ Death Focus. They didn't even know she used dark magic, so there was no way she would explain why she needed a tool that allowed her magic to resonate with the energy released from the death of a ritual sacrifice.

Nor would she inform them that one of these blades, like a soul jar or homunculus, could only be created through an act of murder.

_Jenny ran into another wall as she crept through the rundown flat, still not used to this brand-new sense Elsie gave her a month ago. The lady wasn't nice, not at all, but no one else had ever told her that the weird things she did were **magic** or taught her how to control them. Elsie had even called her special when she accidentally set a book on fire and made the flames stop. Her, **special!** She may not spoil her like Aunt Petunia had Dudley or act like the telly said grandmothers did, but it was lots better than the streets._

_She couldn't find her way around with all the ghost-touches coming at her, so she ignored them as best she could and kept her hand on a wall as she searched for the last and worst of Those Bastards — and that was another good thing about living with Elsie. **She** didn't care if she used bad words, and even taught her some new ones. Elsie had killed three of them, but said that she had to get revenge on the last one herself. If she did, and did it right, she'd be able to do the same stuff the older woman did. Well, that was what saved her and let her use magic all she wanted, so she wasn't going to say no. She was blind, not stupid._

_As soon as she entered the bedroom, she knew he was there. His body was outlined by an almost-but-not-quite hum, nothing like the ball of static Elsie and all the people in that electric Knockturn Alley had, but then he wasn't a wizard, either. She tip-toed over to him and laid her hands on his bed. This was going to be hard, but she couldn't hold him down by herself. Imagining what she wanted to happen, she let her magic flow from her fingers and felt the covers' corners slid out from under the bed to wrap around his wrists and ankles before stretching him out and tying themselves to the frame. She sighed in relief; her spells had become wonky after the ritual, and this one had to go just right. He'd fight back if he got the chance, and he'd always win when it came to strength, so she needed to keep him still._

_There was no point worrying about 'what if's now, though. She had a job to do, and this was better than cutting up plants or killing small animals and throwing them into a pot. This was something she **wanted** to do. She reached over and slapped him as hard as she could._

"_Bloody 'ell!" he shouted, struggling against his sheets. She was scared at first they wouldn't hold, but eventually he stopped when he couldn't get away. "'Oo's there?!"_

_She got closer and heard him gasp. "Hi there. Remember me?"_

"_You… you're that 'allucination, the girl in the alley a year ago."_

"_It was eleven months and six days ago!" Jenny screamed. "I remember it. I remember what you and your friends did to me every day. **Every** **damn day**. And you won't get away with it, not anymore."_

_He started fighting his bed again. "Look, you gotta unnerstan'! It was the drugs, I swear! We woul'n've done it if we were clean! It wasn' our fault!"_

"_It was the drugs," she repeated coldly. She picked up a needle from the nightstand, her new sense becoming clearer now that she wasn't so focused on understanding what it was telling her. "It was **all** the drugs, but you still use them." She threw it at the wall above him, shattering it and making him cry._

"_Look, I'll… I'll make it up to you. I've got money you can 'ave in the drawer, gotta be five thousan' poun's. Take it, it's yours!"_

_She smiled, but she wasn't happy. All she felt was rage and hatred eating away at her insides. "Yeah, you'll make it up to me, and I'll take your money, but not right now." The seven year old reached behind her and pulled out the steel knife she had slipped in her belt. He moaned in fear._

"_You hurt me. I'm going to hurt you back."_

Jen shook herself from her agonizing memories. There was too much going on in the present for her to drown herself in the past. _Especially __**him**__. I honestly don't know who was the real victor of our conflict; I had justice in the end, but not before he took the last of my childhood from me._ She shoved the past to the back of her mind where it belonged and instead lost herself in the comfort of her friends' idle chatter.

* * *

"About time you showed up," Tracey said, running over as they were walking past the Great Hall. "Did you see the Gryffindors all lined up in a row? Apparently McGonagall's started being harder on them; she even confiscated the Weasley Twits' pranking supplies when she normally lets them off with just a warning."

"How did you come to learn that? I have heard nothing about it."

The Slytherin blushed. "Kenneth told me earlier today in the library."

"Oh my, will wonders never cease?" She wrapped her arm around Tracey's shoulders and pulled the shocked girl closer to her side. "Has the chivalrous Lion swept the sarcastic Snake off her feet? Shall I start picking out gifts for a baby chimera?"

"Hush, you! No one's done any sweeping, and there're no plans for a bun in the oven any time soon. He doesn't even know I fancy him — you know how men are — and it's going to _stay that way_, understand?"

"I hear and obey, Mistress."

They all had a good laugh at that, then Tracey pointed to the Slytherin table. "Besides, you have your own admirer over there. Haven't you noticed Malfoy making cow eyes at you?"

She wished she could glare at her friend's wicked grin. "There are so many things wrong with that question, I don't know where to start. Ignoring for a moment that he's my cousin, I believe what he is feeling is less affection and more undying hatred."

"Well, you did sic his mother on him," Padma threw in. "That wouldn't make him like you much, I don't think."

_Mail came to Hogwarts's students during breakfast. That was the way of things, so when an owl flew through the window during lunch, it naturally caught everyone's attention. Uncaring for its audience, it looked over the teens and finally found its target._

"_Uh-oh," Morag said as they watched it descend, "somebody's getting a Howler."_

"_Howler?"_

_The Scot turned to Jen. "They're letters parents charm to read themselves loudly enough that anyone within a couple of kilometers can hear. Last year the Weasley twins received one every couple of weeks because of their pranks."_

_She stopped speaking as the owl landed in front of a suddenly frightened Draco Malfoy. He didn't take the letter, but simply sat there as if he hoped he could wish it away. His hopes were for naught._

_After smoking briefly, the letter burst open on its own, and Cissy's cultured voice, hard with anger and disapproval, rang throughout the silent hall._

"_DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY, I HAVE NEVER BEEN AS DISAPPOINTED WITH YOU AS I AM RIGHT NOW. HOW COULD YOU SHAME YOUR HOUSES, BOTH MALFOY AND BLACK, BY ACTING LIKE AN IRRESPONSIBLE GRYFFINDOR? ANTAGONIZING YOUR COUSIN, DENIGRATING RESPECTABLE PUREBLOODS, THIS IS WHAT I WOULD EXPECT FROM A **WEASLEY**! EVEN THE **POTTERS** HAVE MORE PROPRIETY THAN THAT!_

"_YOU WERE SORTED INTO SLYTHERIN, SO ACT LIKE IT! INSTEAD OF CREATING UNNECESSARY AND SELF-DESTRUCTIVE CONFLICTS, TRY RAISING YOUR BELOW AVERAGE MARK IN CHARMS. YOUR FATHER AND I DID NOT RAISE YOU TO BE A LAZY, GORMLESS RUFFIAN, AND WE WILL NO LONGER STAND FOR YOU TO CONTINUE BEHAVING AS SUCH. YOU **WILL** LEARN TO COMPORT YOURSELF AS BEFITS OUR STATION IN SOCIETY, **ONE WAY OR ANOTHER**._

"_FINALLY, APOLOGIZE TO YOUR COUSIN AND GIVE HER YOUR GRATITUDE BEFORE THE DAY IS OUT. HER INTERVENTION IS THE ONLY REASON I AM NOT AT THE SCHOOL IN PERSON TURNING YOU OVER MY KNEE."_

_The silence hung in the cavernous room for a few moments, then one of the Gryffindors burst out laughing. It spread through the Lions like wildfire, and soon all four Houses were united in mocking the still-gaping boy._

_Jen swallowed her own laughter before it could overtake her. That had been perfectly Slytherin: the timing of the letter made sure everyone paid attention, and the calculated words tore him to pieces. Comparing him to the Weasleys and Potters, who the Malfoys despised, referencing the Gryffindor stereotype, bringing up his worst subject; his embarrassment was nearly palpable from where she sat. Then the coup de grace, publicly pulling away the protection of his family name and declaring open season on the self-absorbed ponce. His Charms scores would have to wait until he was no longer fending off attacks from every member of his house that he had stepped on and insulted. Considering his personality, she figured it would be late November at the earliest before they stopped cursing him any time they saw him._

_The last part was a nice touch, and one she appreciated. He knew from the beginning who informed his mother, but now he would be wary of retaliating for fear of even worse punishment. She raised her goblet to the window the owl had entered from. "Well played, Auntie."_

"No, it wouldn't," Jen replied. "It was funny, though, and he's been too busy watching his back to cause trouble. That's a win in my book." The girls laughed again and walked out to greet the coming guests.

* * *

**Silently Watches out.**


	16. The Goblets of Fire

**chm01:** Dumbledore's reaction would depend on if Jen ever finds out he had a hand in he core issues. If not, he might think, "I made a mistake, but it was for the Greater Good"; if so, it'll be, "I made AAAARGH!" as she literally rips him in half.

**InsanitySorrow 2.0:** Did I ever imply that the Potters were the brightest bulbs in the box? :) Jen has a great deal of anger towards them, but when she does strike at them, it will be cold and calculated. I've read _Beyond the Pale_ as well, and while I liked it, I don't think I'll ever be able to write an apathetic!Harry. Another story that's in a similar vein is _Something Like Your Family_ by Luan Mao. It's just a oneshot, but quite good.

Dumbles is so sure he's right that he never reevaluated his conclusions. And you're right, all Jen plans to do is learn and build alliances for her post-Hogwarts life. Honestly, she's the heiress to an Ancient House; she doesn't need to overthrow the government to rule Magical Britain. She'll have all the political power she wants as soon as she graduates. The title came from Dumbledore (or as Jen called him, _"the old goat-fucker"_) and Malfoy (another name for a donkey is a jack-ass :) ).

**Cytokinesis:** As we get further along, her close friends will see more and more of the real her, but she'll keep up her facade when in public; if there's one thing working as a prostitute taught her, it's how to be a terrific actress. I'm undecided if Dumbledore or the Potters will ever find out about Candyland, simply because I'm not sure where they would possibly learn of it. Jen won't tell them, and the other Blacks wouldn't spit on those three if they were on fire. At the moment, Jen's just trying to create a social power base; the only endgame is increasing the political power of the Black family.

**The second scene is a continuation of Jen's flashback from last chapter, and it's a little graphic.**

**Disclaimer:** Was the Triwizard Tournament restricted to the students who were already of age? If so, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.

* * *

**Chapter 16  
****The Goblets of Fire**

_That would have been more interesting if I were able to __**see**__ what happened,_ Jen muttered internally as the Hogwarts students and their three hundred guests trooped into the Great Hall. As it was, she had been in the back of the crowd, which left the other schools just outside her sense's range and forced her to rely on Tracey's descriptions. The Beauxbatons contingent had arrived in a carriage supposedly straight out of a fairy tale, complete with winged horses — Abraxans, one of the older Hufflepuffs had said — and had a very _unusual_ Headmistress. The mossy texture of the enormous woman's core reminded her of those rare visits to the continent Elsie had taken her on when they traded with a Spanish giant colony. In fact, now that she thought about it, the gatekeeper and Care professor had the same trait; his core was just so stale that it was difficult to tease it out. If weren't a near-impossibility, she'd think he never used magic!

Durmstrang, on the other hand, possessed a sailing ship that could apparently teleport between bodies of water if their arrival in the Black Lake was any indication. The lake was completely landlocked, so there was no way they could have sailed, even under the surface, to their ultimate destination. If their unique method of travel wasn't enough, one of the students was some famous Quidditch player, Crumb or something. Their Headmaster wasn't nearly as imposing, just a normal man.

_And here we are on the ground_, she thought idly. _Soil, sea, and sky, how poetic._

She joined the other Ravenclaws at their table, which, along with the Gryffindors', had been moved towards the center of the hall. Taking a seat on the outer side so as to avoid any public confrontations with Potter-worshipers, she noticed the French moving to the table between her House's and the Slytherins' while the other Europeans — many seemed to speak German, but she also recognized some Russian and what she thought might be Swedish — found places at the empty table between the Badgers and Lions.

Dumbledore remained standing after all the students were seated. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghouls and guests. It is my great pleasure to welcome you all to Hogwarts, and I trust your stay will be both comfortable and enjoyable. The tournament will officially open at the end of the feast, but until then, eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!"

Dinner was an adventure. The elves had decided to make the guests feel more comfortable by providing dishes from their countries of origin; at least, that was her supposition as she lifted a serving of rabbit from a platter as it passed her. She was one of the few who did, however, most seemingly satisfied with eating food that was familiar.

The foreign students were the same way, as twenty minutes after the feast began, one of the Beauxbatons students came over to where she was sitting. "Excuse me, are you wanting ze bouillabaisse?"

It took all of Jen's control not to show the loathing and lust that suddenly filled her. She had no idea why she felt that way, but her instincts were screaming at her to teach the French tart her place, to rip the girl's limbs off and shove her head between her legs…

With a sharp mental jerk, she wrenched her thoughts back to a semblance of normality. She combed through the satiny weave of magic she could now feel emanating from the older girl and quickly found the subconscious compulsions dancing through it. _French descent and a natural aura that inspires desire in men and jealousy in women, she has to be Veela. It wasn't mentioned in Bellatrix's book, but being bisexual must cause their innate magic to consider me both competition and prey, hence the conflicting emotions._ "No," she said, concealing any hint of her earlier impulses, "feel free to take it."

"You do not mind?"

"Not at all. Honestly, I've never been very fond of fish." _Clams, however, are another story entirely._

After the students had gorged themselves on the last of the puddings and soufflés, Dumbledore rose again and introduced two newcomers who had slipped in during the meal. "May I introduce Mr. Ludo Bagman, the director of the British Ministry's Department of Magical Games and Sports, and Mr. Bartemius Crouch, head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Without their tireless efforts, this competition would never have been resurrected, so please give them a round of applause." Once the clapping stopped, he smiled gaily at the sea of children.

"This is the moment I know you have all been waiting for, the start of the Triwizard Tournament. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket, just to clarify the procedure."

The entire student body was eerily silent upon his uttering the word _'casket'_, causing his voice to echo. "The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mr. Bartemius Crouch and Mr. Ludo Bagman, who made the necessary arrangements for each challenge. There will be five tasks, spread throughout the school year; the first four are based on the qualities of the four Hogwarts Houses — Hufflepuff's loyalty, Gryffindor's daring, Ravenclaw's wisdom, and Slytherin's cunning — and the competitors will be scored by our two organizers, as well as Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, and myself, based on how well they perform each task. The final contest will not be have a score, per se, but will decide the victor by who can first claim the magnificent Triwizard Cup.

"As you know, there will be two champions competing from each school, one senior and one junior. These six champions will be chosen by impartial selectors: the Goblets of Fire."

At his words, Filch, who had been lurking in the corner of the room nearest the Hufflepuff table, now wheeled a large wooden chest to the staff table. Dumbledore unlocked it with three taps of his wand and pulled out a gigantic, rough-hewn cup filled with flame and absolutely quivering with enchantments. Setting the Goblet on a conjured podium, he created another stand a short distance away and placed on it a second, silver cup, the same size as the first, that was also pulled from the chest.

"Students who are seventeen or older must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the wooden Goblet if they wish to be a senior champion. Those striving to be a junior champion should follow the same procedure with the silver Goblet, which was forged by the goblins especially for this Tournament; any student between the ages of fourteen and sixteen may enter as a junior. To ensure that no one yields to the temptation of entering twice, I will be drawing Age Lines around the separate Goblets once they have been placed in the entrance hall. Unless you are of the proper age, you will not be able to pass. You have until dinner tomorrow night to submit your names.

"Finally, I wish to impress upon you that this is not something to take lightly. Once the Goblets select a champion, he or she is obligated to see the tournament through to the end. As the placing of your name constitutes a binding magical contract, be very sure that you are wholeheartedly prepared to participate before you drop your name inside. Now, I think it is time for bed. Good night to you all."

Luna practically glued herself to Jen as the students rose from their tables and made their way to their quarters, be they in the castle or in the vehicles outside. "So, you're sure you want to enter? This seems to be a rather extreme solution to your boredom."

"It's not just to have something to do with my time, Luna. I'm curious to see exactly where I stand in relation to our peers in a non-classroom setting, and the _'glory'_ the Tournament promises will be valuable political capital that I would be a fool to pass up."

"You and your politics," the younger girl huffed. "Why weren't you a Snake, again?"

She smiled. "Because this was safer for the Slytherins."

* * *

"_You hurt me. I'm going to hurt you back."_

_Jenny raised the knife and slammed it into The Bastard's thigh, smiling grimly at his scream. She had created a soundproof barrier as soon as she entered, which meant he could yell all he wanted. No help would ever come. She sawed back and forth, the serrated edge tearing through his flesh._

_Hot blood spurted from his wound, staining the wall, the bed, her face. Reaching in with the hand not grasping the ever-sharp blade, she conjured a fist-full of fire and pressed it against the severed artery; though the reek of burned meat turned her stomach, she would keep him from dying. It was too early for that._

_Unfortunately, the addict didn't seem to appreciate her 'mercy'. "I'm sorry! Oh God, I'm sorry! I'll do whatever you want, just stop!"_

"_Shut up!" she snarled. "When you were in control, I screamed," she jerked the knife from his leg harshly and stabbed it back in, "and I cried," again she ripped it out, leaving another gushing pit, "and I **begged**. You didn't stop; you just kept going, harder and **harder**. You don't get to tell me to bloody stop!" Her magic, reacting to her rage, flew from her hand and shattered the bone she was working around, shards punching through his skin after shredding the muscle underneath. His wails became louder and higher in pitch._

_The aroma of cigar smoke draped over her shoulders and brought a sickening giggle from deep in her belly. "Well, so much for **that** leg. Maybe the other one will give me what I need?" She created another fireball and flicked her wrist at the ruined limb. The flame reshaped itself into a crescent and sliced through the man's leg, sheets, and mattress, starting several small fires that she quickly dismissed. After pulling the bag of meat onto the floor at her feet, she crawled onto the soaked bed and straddled his remaining knee. She started sawing again, more carefully this time, and made liberal use of her fire to stop his bleeding._

_By the time she finished removing his leg, The Bastard had screamed himself hoarse and could only whimper pitifully. She scooted farther up until she was sitting on his belly, then dropped the severed appendage onto his chest so he could stare in horror at the mangled surface. "Pay close attention, now. This is the grand finale, and I don't want you to miss it after enjoying the rest of the show." A wave of her hand sheared the thigh in half down its length, and another flung the leg through the doorway and into the living room; the only part not affected was the femur, one end splintered from the knife. She lifted it and hacked away at the damaged end, small chips of bone smacking him in the face._

"_You know," she rambled to fill the silence, "Elsie, the woman who took me in after you four hurt me, said I had to shape the bone without magic — yes, yes, magic is real, and you've gotten an up close and personal look at it. Anyway, working with the bone has to be done completely by hand, something about _'not tainting the act'_. Considering I've been torturing you for the last twenty minutes or so, I'm not sure it __**can**__ be tainted any more, but I'm still doing it the way she told me because she's yet to lie to me. She's the only person who's ever treated me even half-way decent, which isn't something you'd expect from a serial killer." She ran her fingers over the sharp point she had whittled from the bone. "Of course, with scum like you and your friends running around, being better isn't that hard. At least __**they**__ were quieter when they died, though that might have had something to do with her cutting their throats."_

_He didn't reply, so she slapped him in the face again to regain his attention. His incoherent moans gave way to a rough whisper. "Why? Why are you doing this? We dinn' know you were real. It was an acciden'."_

"_Accident?" The faint grin that had played on her lips as she worked vanished in an instant. "**Accident?** You raped me, you sick son of a bitch!" With strength belied by her small form, she flipped the bone over and rammed it into his heart._

_The hum around his body slowed and finally ground to a halt, the spike sticking from his chest a grotesque mockery of a flag claiming virgin land. Jenny was alone again, the Presence having left her at his death, and she shakily removed her hands from the now freezing bone. Taking in what she had done, she threw herself off the bed and scampered to the far wall. If she still had her sight, she would have shut her eyes tight, but her magical sense refused to turn from the corpse. She screamed, all her pain, anger, hate, and fear mixing together in the sound, and flames surged from her skin._

_x-x-x-x-x_

_An old black women stood in the streets outside the burning building, wondering if the child she had spent so much time on recently would walk out the door or be consumed by the fire. "Five more minutes, girly, then you're on your own."_

_Thankfully, she didn't have to wait long. Not two minutes after she gave her ultimatum, she spotted a small figure weaving through the flames. Out of the inferno came the girl; as she watched, the broken bone clasped in a tiny hand bubbled and flowed, reforming into a foot-long dagger with blackened, serrated edges. She smiled at the impossible event, for it meant the night was a success; the girl had created a Death Focus and was worthy of learning the secrets of Voodoo. "Good work, Jenny. I was worried you didn't have it in you."_

"_I'm not Jenny."_

"_What do you mean?" She slipped her wand and her own Focus — a bone from her father's skull — into her hands, but kept her voice even. It wasn't unheard of for vengeful spirits to possess initiates at this stage, and they had to be dealt with quickly and decisively before they could flee._

"_I'm not Jenny. She died in there."_

"_Then who are you?"_

"_I don't know!" Tears cutting paths through the blood- and soot-streaked face, the girl barreled into her and latched thin arms around her waist. "I don't know anymore!"_

_She sighed as she patted the girl's back; obviously this was just the shock of her first murder setting in. Such a thing was completely normal, if not somewhat irritating. "Yes, it hurts now, but it'll fade, and soon you'll be able to kill without batting an eye. Welcome to a dark new world… Jen."_

Jen shot up in bed with a harsh gasp. It had been years since she relived that night in her dreams, but she should have expected this to happen after remembering it earlier in the day. She pulled her legs to her chest and wrapped her arms around them; dwelling on Those Bastards, and The Bastard in particular, always brought that cold December night back to the front of her mind. Laying her head on her knees, she cried softly in the darkness.

Elsie had said the anguish and anger from her rape would eventually dwindle and be forgotten, as did all pains. In this, she was dead wrong.

* * *

Never before had Jen observed such extravagant Halloween preparations. Live bats swooped between the beams of the Great Hall, and hundreds of jack-o'-lanterns ruled each corner. Even the specters were taking part, stalking the younger students around the entrance hall or popping their heads out of the tables to much applause. The French students had their noses turned up at the ethereal antics, but the Durmstrang guests were laughing with unparalleled delight. Still, no matter how wonderful the entertainment, she really didn't see the point in having two feasts in as many days, a sentiment echoed by most everyone around her.

Finally, Dumbledore rose from the staff table as the last crumbs of food faded away. "The Goblets are ready to make their decisions, but first, let us set the appropriate mood." A sweep of his wand extinguished the torches, leaving only the candles in the pumpkins lit. She smirked unseen; as the only one unimpaired by the new conditions, she felt the large number of students who jumped in fright, including one of the seventh year Slytherins. Who knew almost a fifth of her schoolmates were still afraid of the dark?

"When the champions' names are called, please come to the front of the Hall and enter the next chamber." He waved his hand, and a door swung open to the side of the staff table. "Once you are all assembled, you will receive your first instructions."

The old man tapped his wand against the silver cup, and three orbs coalesced in the flames. The first leapt from the Goblet while tendrils of magic shot from it and wrapped around a French boy, swiftly mixing with his core. Dumbledore caught the scrap of parchment that emerged from the burning shell. "The junior champion for Beauxbatons," he called, "is Philippe Leroux!"

A cheer erupted from the table as the rather short young man rose and nearly sprinted through the door. Silence descended again, but everyone was shivering in excitement. _If this is what they're like after just the first champion's choosing, I bet someone will have a heart attack by the last._

The second fireball soared into the air, the magical bindings latching onto a bulky girl at the Durmstrang table. "For Durmstrang, the junior champion is Ingrid Eberhardt!"

Stomping boots and snippets of a German song followed Eberhardt as she marched across the hall. Her expression may have been severe, but Jen could feel her exhilaration.

The final parchment erupted from the Goblet's flames, and Dumbledore frowned at it. "The junior champion for Hogwarts," he said in a slightly harsh tone, "is Jen Black!"

She stood and gave a sweeping wave to the number of Ravenclaws who applauded her selection. Only a few didn't, all of whom had bullied the younger housemates before Flitwick intervened, and she flashed a quick two-fingered salute at Chang, who had been proclaiming the entire day that there was no way that the Goblet _wouldn't_ chose her as Hogwarts's junior. The other students who saw it just laughed and cheered louder.

Strands of magic from the Goblet floated by her, and she curled one around her finger before releasing it. Since the contract bound itself to the champion's core, she was free to do whatever she wished without worrying about punishment, even forfeit should she decide not to participate any longer. Of course, doing so would reveal to everyone that something was extremely different about her, so the situation would have to be dire for her to consider that action.

The Great Hall's side room was quite cozy, portraits covering the walls and a roaring fire warming the cold stone floor. She conjured a chair next to the fireplace and dropped into it. "Well, that was more suspenseful than I expected."

"_Ja_," Eberhardt said, "I thought my heart vas going to stop vhen Dumbledore called my name."

Leroux nodded in agreement and conjured a chair next to hers. "'Ow old are you, eef you don't mind? You seem much younger than we."

"Fourteen. I take you are both sixteen?"

They nodded in unison. "I vill turn seventeen next veek," Eberhardt added.

Before she could respond, the door opened again and the famous Durmstrang Quidditch player entered the room. "Victor!" cheered Eberhardt.

"No surprise zere," Leroux muttered. "Eef anyone was going to represent zem, eet would be Krum. Oh, _merde_, I 'ave to work wiz _'ER?"_

Her sonar alerted her to another champion, and the sudden surge of desire told her just who it was. Fleur Delacour had become Hogwarts's newest wank fantasy and enemy number one in a single night, her name on everyone's lips. Jen sighed with her French counterpart, but for a totally different reason; with the Veela a contestant as well, her self-control would be sorely tested.

The door opened for the third time, and the ever-cheerful Cedric Diggory joined the crowd by the fire. "This is going to be a smashing good show," he said. "It'll be fun competing with all of you!" He was the only senior champion who made a chair to sit in; Krum and Delacour were content to lean against the wall by the fireplace.

"I wonder how long they're going to make us wait?" she wondered aloud, and as if summoned by her question, the door slowly swung open, allowing Potter to slide in. "And of course the Golden Boy would be the messenger."

Before he could give a retort, Bagman scurried over and led Potter to the group. "Extraordinary! Absolutely extraordinary! Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce — incredible though it may seem — the _seventh_ Triwizard champion?"

* * *

**While many rape victims develop a fear of sex or intimacy, or become distrustful of men, there is a significant number who become hypersexual, perhaps in a subconscious attempt to regain a feeling of control over their own bodies. Jen is of this latter type.**

**I'm starting to wonder if the Ministry shouldn't have changed the name of the Tournament to Hexawizard, considering the number of champions involved.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	17. Unwilling Champion

**Addictive Label:** No, Jen's not jerking Luna around. Right now they're just friends; romance will come later. I said I wasn't going to be graphic about her job in Candyland; violence is fair game, but I refuse to go into details about pedophilia.

**magitech:** I don't think Hufflepuff is the house of cowards, but it's always seemed to me to be a house for those with… more delicate sensibilities, let's say. Jen's far too harsh for that to appeal to her. It's against Hogwarts charter for the Headmaster to have any other positions _in the school_; what he does outside of that isn't covered. My view of phoenixes is that they are creatures of light _magic_, not philosophy. The magic witches and wizards cast has an effect on their souls, and that's what phoenix song touches. Dumbledore has done many bad things, but he's never used dark magic, hence why he can stand Fawkes's song; Jen, who uses the Black Arts, has a very distorted soul and therefore suffers great pain from his vocalizations.

**InsanitySorrow 2.0:** Oh, no one's going to like Danny for a while, and for that very reason. No, Fleur doesn't know what she's doing to Jen, nor just how perilous that is for her health :) Voldemort isn't after Jen; Danny IS the BWL, his blood is why he was entered in the Tournament, so Moldy Voldy has no reason to capture her. You're right, though, that what's unique about Jen is her soul. Taking her blood wouldn't give V a single benefit. Ha ha, don't worry about how long your reviews are; I like hearing what people think! I have read _The Listener_, and I'm eagerly awaiting the next chapter.

**Disclaimer:** Did the foreign champions and staff instantly accept Dumbledore's assurances that Harry didn't arrange for an older student to put his name in the Goblet of Fire? If so, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.

* * *

**Chapter 17  
****Unwilling Champion**

_Before he could give a retort, Bagman scurried over and led Potter to the group. "Extraordinary! Absolutely extraordinary! Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce — incredible though it may seem — the **seventh** Triwizard champion?"_

* * *

"Oh, vairy funny joke, Meester Bagman."

Jen snorted at that. If anyone else had been brought forward, she would have agreed with the statement, but as it was Potter… She had a feeling she was about to get a first-hand exposure to the boy ignoring whatever rules he felt were beneath him.

Bagman looked at the French witch, bemusement plastered on his face. "Joke? Not at all. Danny's name just came out of the wooden Goblet!"

"Zen zair evidently 'as been a mistake," Delacour continued superciliously. "'E cannot 'ave been chosen as a senior champion; 'e ees too young. And 'Ogwarts already 'as a junior champion, as well."

"Well… it is amazing," Bagman began before she cut him off.

"Amazing, nothing. Which seventh-year did you pay off to put your name in, Potter?"

The boy bristled, scorn dripping from his words. "No one. I didn't even want to be in the bloody Tournament, Black."

She scoffed, but the door opening again prevented her from responding. In came seemingly everyone who had an excuse to watch the three-ring circus this was devolving into: first was Dumbledore, Crouch, and Moody, all of whom settled themselves against the wall opposite the champions. Following them were the four Heads of Houses; Snape slunk into a corner while the others took places behind their students. Last were the foreign heads.

"Madame Maxime!" shouted Delacour as she flounced over to the giantess, her skirt bouncing and yielding brief exposures of soft, smooth thigh, perfect for a girl to grind herself against. Jen mentally slapped herself; there was no excuse to still be yielding to the Veela Allure.

_I have to get a hold on myself! It isn't like I'm being tempted by something I've never touched before. I was a whore for five years, for crying out loud!_ Twisting her magic around herself, she snatched a portion of the Allure from the air and integrated it into an oily barrier. Her mind instantly cleared from the raunchy thoughts whipping through it. The spell would only last a few minutes, but that should be enough for how little time she wished to spend around the Veela.

Maxime drew herself to her full height, her head only just low enough to avoid the flames from the chandelier. Anger washed off of her, and Jen sighed at having missed whatever inflammatory comment the Veela had made. "What is ze meaning of zis, Dumbly-dorr?" she boomed. "You cannot allow zis injustice to continue."

"Indeed," Karkaroff snapped. "I think I would have remembered if the rules allowed the host school more champions than the others. Unless you are playing another one of your games?"

"Don't waste your time blaming Dumbledore, Karkaroff," muttered Snape. "The only one at fault is Potter. He has been grasping for all the attention he could find since he first walked through those gates —"

Dumbledore cut in, "That's enough, Severus." He turned towards Potter with a neutral expression. "Danny, did you put your name in either of the Goblets?"

"No!"

Jen thrust her probes at the boy, laying them over his natural shield and sinking into his mind. She frowned; incredible as it sounded, Potter was telling the truth. Flipping through his memories of the past few minutes revealed shock, denial, and a hint of fear at his situation. He honestly was hoping for a peaceful year. Apparently, finding out that he had spent years sleeping only a few feet away from the man who helped try to have him killed when he was an infant had scared him away from undertaking any further 'adventures', at least temporarily.

She pulled out in time to catch the end of McGonagall's diatribe. "— could not have crossed the line himself, and as Professor Dumbledore believes that he did not persuade an older student to do it for him, that should be good enough for everyone!" The Transfiguration teacher glared heatedly at Snape, who didn't seem repentant to the slightest degree.

That was the wrong thing to say. Maxime and Karkaroff both decried at the top of their lungs the very idea that Potter's word could be trusted in this situation; Dumbledore's reputation of infallibility obviously did not stretch far beyond Britain's borders. After several minutes of demands for oaths, penalties, and even truth serum, Moody stomped into the center of the room, his eye whirling unceasingly. "That's enough of your bleating, Karkaroff. Potter's in the Tournament, like it or not. He's got to compete, just like all the rest of them. Convenient, eh?"

"I am afraid I do not unnerstand, Professor Moody," Maxime interrupted. "'Ow is zis convenient?"

"Simple, someone put Potter's name in there knowing he'd have to compete. With the death toll this Tournament has… I would be surprised if whoever did this wasn't hoping he joined that list."

Bagman, who had been wiping his forehead with a cloth, stammered at Moody's prediction. "Moody, old boy, surely you don't mean that. I mean, killing the Boy-Who-Lived… what a thing to say!"

"Ludicrous, more like. Didn't you recently mistake one of your birthday gifts for a cunningly disguised basilisk egg? Surely you'll understand when we take your paranoid mutterings with a grain of salt."

"You think I'm imagining things, Karkaroff? It would take a skilled wizard to make an ancient artifact forget that it can only pick three champions. I'm guessing whoever it was cast an incredibly powerful Confounding Charm, then submitted Potter as the only entry from a fourth school. Wait a day, and he's under a binding magical contract to compete. Five tasks, five opportunities to get him killed, and with the amount of time that has elapsed, our perpetrator's magical signature will have dispersed already."

"Zat still does not explain why Potter was chosen as a senior champion," Fleur cut in. "Would eet not 'ave been easier to confuse ze silver cup? Eet ees newer, so ze enchantments are not as strong as zey are on ze wooden one. Does not zat poke 'oles een your zeory? Zis sounds like eet was meent only as a joke at 'is expense."

"Not a chance. Using the silver Goblet would have just made our mystery wizard's work all the harder. There were more names submitted as junior champion, for one; he couldn't be sure Potter's would come out. There's also the little fact that the new cup is goblin-made. The only better enchanters out there are the dwarves, and they don't leave their mountain halls. And last, the thing that proves this was an attempt on Potter's life rather than some dumb kid playing a prank," Moody grinned mirthlessly, "it had to be an adult who submitted the name, otherwise he couldn't have gotten past the Age Line. As it was, there was no way he could've approached the junior cup."

"An ingenious idea, Moody." Karkaroff's voice was cold, and old hatred poured off of him. "You had to have spent quite some time thinking up a plot as convoluted as this. How can we be sure _you_ weren't the one to enter the boy's name?"

Moody snorted. "It's my job to think as dark wizards do. You know that first-hand, don't you?"

"Alastor!" Dumbledore's warning stymied the confrontation, and Jen silently sighed; she was curious what was going to be shouted next. A brief scan had already informed her that Karkaroff, though possessing no additional mental defense, thought in Russian. She would have to go deeper and view his memories to understand what wasn't being said, but she couldn't do that without revealing herself.

The old man continued, "We do not know how this situation arose, but we seem to have no choice but to accept it. Danny has been selected to compete in the Tournament, and he will do so… unless, of course, anyone has a viable alternative?" No one offered any suggestions, though none of the students were happy.

"Well then, let's crack on!" Bagman cheered with a clap of his hands. "We need to give these fine champions their instructions. Barty, you mind if I do the honors?"

Crouch waved his hand in dismissal, so the former Quidditch player leapt right in. "The first task, which will take place on December the third, will be the Gryffindor task, designed to test your daring and courage when facing the unknown. So, we aren't going to tell you what the task is."

He ignored their quiet — or in Leroux's case, not so quiet — protests and continued, "I know, I know, it doesn't seem fair, but this was our," he motioned with his arms to include the school heads and Crouch, "decision after months of negotiation. The only thing you can have with you in the arena is a wand. You can't get any of your teachers to help you complete the tasks, so don't even ask. We'll give you information about the second and third tasks once the first is over. Now, for the good news: because the Tournament is so demanding and time-consuming, all of you are excused from the end-of-year tests."

Jen perked up at that. She had been getting worried about the exams; she could _perform_ the magic being taught in class just fine, but her wandless magic had completely different underlying theories than the wanded variety. With this proviso, she had two years to learn the theory the rest of the classes had covered before she sat any tests on her knowledge.

"I think that's all, right Albus?" Bagman asked.

"I think so. I'm sure there are parties for all of you, students, so toddle off. It would be a shame to deprive your classmates of an excellent excuse to make a great deal of mess and noise." Having been dismissed, they dispersed, the foreign students to their conveyances and the three Hogwarts champions to the staircases leading higher in the castle.

Diggory cleared his throat and looked at her. "Black, can I have a word?"

"Very well." She noticed Potter turn back to them from his place halfway up the stairs and called out, "It's rude to eavesdrop!" With a hot flush of anger, he continued on his way.

"Now, what was it you wanted to say to me?"

"I know Professor Dumbledore said we would be scored individually, but would you mind if we shared any clues we come across? It's just, we're both Hogwarts champions, so it makes sense for us to team up."

She frowned lightly. "While that _does_ make sense, I'm curious as to why you are so eager to enter into a partnership with someone three years your junior. Surely you know you'll almost certainly contribute more information to this exchange than I?"

"I doubt it." He smiled at her cocked head. "Ravenclaws aren't the only people who can do a spot of research. The wooden Goblet was spelled to select champions based on who would put on the _'best show'_, and I bet the silver one was enchanted the same way. There were plenty of fifth and sixth years who threw their names in, but _you_ were the one selected; clearly, you're more able than you're making yourself out to be.

"Besides," he added, scratching the back of his head nervously, "I kind of owe you one."

"Oh? How do you figure that?"

"Well, I _may_ have developed a bit of a crush on Cho Chang over the summer. I was planning on asking her to Hogsmeade one weekend, see how it went, but then I heard about how she was treating the younger students and what you did to her when you found out. She may be pretty, but I'm not going to date a bully. My mum would have my hide."

"I can only imagine. Yes, I'll share what I find about the Tournament. Still, I'm surprised you didn't request Potter join in as well."

He shook his head. "He's really arrogant from what little I've seen of him. Besides, no matter what Mad-Eye said, I'm not sure that he _didn't_ have an older student put his name in. It wouldn't be the first time he's broken the rules and gotten away with it."

"You have a point," she said, keeping about Potter's innocence. "I'll let you go to your party." She started climbing the stairs to the Ravenclaw Tower, waving a hand in response to Diggory's good-bye.

* * *

A wall of sound slammed into Jen as she entered the Tower. While generally not as rambunctious as the Gryffindors, or even the Hufflepuffs, let it never be said that the Ravenclaws didn't know how to have a fun time. Three radios were blaring music from different stations, butterbeers were being passed around, and empty bottles of firewhiskey were laying suspiciously under the table holding a punch-bowl.

"Jen! Over here!" Morag called, waving a hand frantically. She slid through the sea of humanity, receiving congratulatory hugs, slaps on the back, and even a sloppy kiss from one particularly drunk sixth-year. Just before she reached her friends, a disgruntled Chang stepped in front of her.

Chang sneered and screamed, "You little bitch! _I_ was supposed to be the junior champion, not you! You tricked the Goblet into picking you, and I'm going to find out how!"

She erected a soundproof barrier around them and smiled darkly at the Asian girl. "And what if I did? It's not like it would matter. I'm the champion, you're not, live with it. There's nothing you can do to change those facts."

"Why you!" Chang reached for her wand, but Jen conjured a blank wand and held the end in front of Chang's face. The tip sparked, and the girl paled.

"Last time, I knocked you arse over teakettle, then damn near electrocuted you. Do you really want to go through that again?"

"Y-you wouldn't," Chang stuttered. "Professor Flitwick would punish you."

"You mean like he punished me last time? Telling a Ravenclaw to spend time in the library, _that's_ certainly going to make me change my ways. You may not have figured it out yet, but your name is mud with him now. If I might give you some advice…" She poked the girl in the chest with her wandtip, applying a slight shock in the process. "Starting fights you're never going to win isn't really a smart decision; it's what I would expect from a brainless Lion. Keep your head down, or someone might… tear it off. We understand each other?"

Rather than verbally respond, Chang paled even further and staggered backwards out of the silenced area. Jen smirked and dismissed the spell. "I see that we do. Now move along, little girl, before you annoy me any further." No longer hindered, she joined her friends.

"Wow, I've never seen Chang be run off that quickly, even when she was a second year. What'd you say to her?" Padma asked after draining the last dregs of her butterbeer.

"Nothing much, just reminded her about the perils of irritating the heiress of the Black family. How did everyone react to the Golden Boy's name coming out of the Goblet?"

The two girls shrugged, and Morag answered, "About how you would expect. Weasley was looking furious, though."

"Doesn't surprise me at all," a new voice commented. Luna dropped into a chair by the trio and handed out another round of butterbeers. "Ronald always was a jealous one. Ever in the shadows of his brothers, overlooked for his 'miracle' sister, constantly shown up by his 'best mates', blah blah blah. He'll throw a tantrum for a bit, then come whining back; it's the same thing he's done since he was little."

Jen turned to her in curiosity. "You know him well?"

"I have the great misfortune of living close to him. We, the Fawcetts, and the Diggorys are the only magical families living around Ottery St. Catchpole, and his sister Ginny was the only girl my age I had a chance to get to know." Luna lowered her voice in embarrassment, "In fact, that nickname Chang had for me, Loony? Ronald was the first person to call me that."

"You had to put up with that red-haired cretin your entire life? That must have been terrible," Morag muttered, and the others nodded in sympathy. Weasley was known to deride anyone who had even average intelligence and had therefore been declared _persona non grata_ in Ravenclaw Tower. Why would they voluntarily spend time around someone who called them _'useless, bookwormy swots'_?

"Being entered in the Tournament might actually be a good thing for Potter, then. Damn," she muttered.

Luna quirked an eyebrow. "_'Being entered'_? What do you mean by that?"

"Exactly what I said. Someone put a Confundus Charm on the Goblet and submitted his name; Moody thinks it's some kind of assassination attempt. In any case, Potter didn't want his name in there to begin with." Noticing Luna's expression, she continued, "My, er, twillcks told me."

"Ah, that makes sense. Just be sure not to let them feed too often or on people who don't like you; I've heard it gives them indigestion."

She smiled. After two months, she had become much better at interpreting Luna's analogies. "It wouldn't be the first time." Reading minds naturally meant she would hear negative opinions of herself, not that she let them bother her; only the thoughts of those she found worthy had any value to her, and there weren't many like that running around. For the masses, she only cared if their opinions could be cashed in at a later date for something she wanted, such as increased fame for the family.

"Anyway, keep that information to yourselves; it will be good for him to be taken down a few pegs. I'll see all of you tomorrow." Her dreams that night were much more peaceful than the night before.

* * *

The next few days were… interesting, to say the least. For all that Tracey had said Potter was a leader of the students, the students turned on him like a school of sharks smelling blood in the water. His customary cockiness backfired as he found himself alone except for the presence of Granger and Neville Longbottom, who Jen discovered was his godbrother, the only son of his comatose godmother. After three years seeking ever more attention, no one was willing to believe he was actually innocent this time around. Rumors about him spread like wildfires, and people were coming out of the woodwork with tales of how he had been planning his entrance in the Tournament since the announcement at the opening feast. The whole situation would have been sad if he weren't the spoiled brat of James and Lily Potter; as it was, she just found it amusing.

Still, she had other things to worry about than the trials and tribulations of one Daniel James Potter, such as how to while away the next few hours of her Friday afternoon. She was sitting on the parapet of the Astronomy tower, undecided if she should visit London, when the trapdoor behind her opened.

Luna climbed the last steps to the platform and sat next to her with a huff of fatigue. "Why did you have to come all the way up here? Surely you could have chosen somewhere closer to the common room."

"I could have, but it would be a shame to waste the last few pleasant days we have," she remarked. A warming charm kept the chill away, but winter's frosts and blizzards would soon descend on Scotland, curtailing her time outside the castle.

"If you say so. Dumbledore wants you, by the way, something about interviews and photographs for the _Devoted Panderers_."

She laughed at Luna's most recent moniker for the _Prophet_; the daughter of a rival newspaper printer could be allowed a certain measure of distaste. "I see. Well, it's a good thing the old man sent you. I doubt anyone else would have looked for me up here."

"Tracey Davis may have; she understands you the best out of all of us, I believe." Luna sighed. "When are you going to show us more than your public persona? You relax some when it's just a few of us with you, but it's obvious to me that you're still hiding a lot. Maybe sharing some of it will shrink the enormous Melanchist hanging off you."

"Melanchist?"

"Mm-hmm. It's a winged creature that attaches itself to those with tragic histories and grows as it feeds on their pain. Two latched onto Daddy and me after my mother's death, but we've managed to keep them relatively small by talking about it when we need to and trying to move on with our lives."

Jen barely held in a snort. _'Tragic' is one way to describe it, I suppose_. "I will try to be more open, but there is quite a bit about my life that I either don't want to remember or don't think you want to know. As my flying beastie shows you, it wasn't good by any definition of the word. There are things I've experienced and done that would likely turn your stomach. If you learn more of my past, you'll agree with me on that point.

"Speaking of painful memories, now and September first are the only times you've mentioned your mother. If it's not too impertinent, may I ask what happened?"

"Mummy was a spellcrafter by trade, and shortly before her death she started researching what Charlus Potter may have done when he gave his life to protect his grandson Daniel from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. She hoped to develop a shield that would defend against the Killing Curse without requiring someone's death."

"Can't happen," she interjected. "No one can oppose Death, only bargain with Him. The elder Potter had to have given his life freely to keep his grandson's from being stolen away before its time; it was an equal trade, which is the very backbone of sacrificial magic. To even attempt what your mother wanted to do, cheapening the fearsome power of sacrifice into mere words and wand-waving… there would be consequences. Death gets angry if you try to cheat Him."

"Maybe if she had known that, she would still be alive," Luna muttered. "I was coming home from playing with Ginny Weasley when I spotted the smoke coming from the house. I ran as fast as I could and found her in the basement. The whole room had exploded, and there she was, sitting in the middle of the debris. She died soon after I found her; it was like she just wanted to look at me one more time before she crossed the Veil."

She sighed and gently pulled the sniffling girl closer to her side. "I'm sorry for bringing up such bad memories."

"It's okay, all of this happened years ago. I know you can sense the thestrals, too; what did you see?"

"Er… I didn't _see_ it, you understand, but I heard another boy die when I was six. He… discovered that he was loitering near the wrong crowd. Someone sliced his throat open and let him bleed out." This was all true, though the _'wrong crowd'_ consisted of only two people, Elsie and herself. When the older woman first found her, she had been feeding herself from dumpsters as best she could and was little more than skin and bones. Elsie had sacrificed the child to return her to a healthy state; in fact, she was healthier after that ritual than she had ever been while at the Dursleys' or on the streets. That had been her first taste of Voodoo's sweet darkness, and instantly she was hooked.

Luna nodded and pulled away. "You need to go if you don't want to be late. They're meeting on the ground floor, a few doors from the Great Hall."

Jen nodded and started down the stairs. She had a quick errand to run first.

* * *

**I have to wonder if Rowling actually looked at a calendar when choosing dates for the tasks. The twenty-fourth of November, 1994, was a _Thursday_, which strikes me as an exceedingly odd time for a task that takes the entire morning. The third of December is a Saturday.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	18. Prep Work

**InsanitySorrow 2.0:** I'm glad you like my version of the Lovegood tragedy. Jen doesn't _know_ that Charlus bargained with Death, but it's an educated guess based on Danny surviving the Killing Curse (which never fails to do exactly that) and her own knowledge of black magic. No, I don't think Ron would ever have many friends; it makes me wonder if one reason canon!Harry never had many people around is that they refused to put up with Ron.

**skywiseskychan:** Luna's increased "sanity" is intentional, yes. In _Faery Heroes_, I'm exaggerating her eccentricities for laughs. This story is more serious, however, and I'm showing what changes can happen when a lonely girl gets a trustworthy friend who doesn't care what others say about her.

**Anonymous:** Each scene is told from one person's perspective, so if a pronoun shows up without clearly stating who it refers to, you can generally assume it's the "narrator". Hermione and Neville are on Danny's side at the moment, though I have had ideas for the next year concerning one of them.

**Disclaimer:** Did Harry try to get around the rule that teachers couldn't help him prepare for the Triwizard? If not, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.

* * *

**Chapter 18  
****Prep Work**

Jen stopped outside the ground floor classroom, double-checking that she had her prop, that her anti-Veela charm was in place, and that her blindfold was hidden. Deciding it was best to be cautious, she wove a charm into the cloth to make it unnoticeable. There was a risk that someone could catch a glimpse of it through her fringe, and she wouldn't be able to modify the witnesses' memories here like she did when a few nosy Badgers had discovered her disability. _Though some of them very much deserve their fates. I'd feel sorry for doing it so many times to that Perks girl, but she has utterly no concept of personal space._

The room itself was small and only made smaller by the desks piled up in the back of the room. A long, velvet-draped table took up the front, and standing at the far end was Ollivander the wandmaker. The school heads and the other champions were standing about and conversing softly. After a moment, Bagman, who was seated with Crouch and a witch she didn't recognize, spotted her and pranced over.

"Ah, Ms. Black! Good, good, you're the last one we were waiting for. Come in, there's nothing to worry about, just a brief wand weighing. You'll be out of here in a matter of minutes."

She nodded and sidled over towards Diggory as the man clamored for the others' attentions. After informing her aunts about her selection as the junior champion, they had sent Loki back with a warning of this very event and a spare wand she could use. Thankfully it was made of the same wood as her blank, so no one should notice a difference.

"All right, everyone! We have Garrick Ollivander here with us to check that your wands are in proper order. They're the most important tools in the tasks ahead, you know. Anyway, after that, there's going to be a little photo shoot." He indicated the unknown woman. "This is Rita Skeeter of the _Daily Prophet_. She's doing a small piece on the tournament —"

"Maybe not _that_ small, Ludo," Skeeter said, a nasty undertone to her voice. "This is a historic event, after all."

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "That will have to take place after the actual weighing, Rita. We don't want to waste Mr. Ollivander's time when he graciously agreed to do this for us. Garrick, if you would?"

"You're paying me," the old man replied. "Let us have the ladies first. Fraulein Eberhardt, if you would step up here?"

Eberhardt stepped closer to Ollivander and handed over her wand. He held it close to his eyes, muttering softly. "This is a Holzhauer wand, is it not? I had the pleasure of meeting him just last year. A young man, certainly, new to the craft and with some strange ideas, yes, but I will not deny that he has talent. A hair under ten inches, maple and phoenix feather." He idle conjured a misshapen block of wood and rolled the wand between his fingers. "Maple has never liked me much, I'm afraid, but I believe this is in good condition."

The German girl moved away as Delacour strode imperiously forward for Ollivander to repeat his examination and confirm her Veela heritage. Then it was Jen's turn.

"Hmm, so you did find a wand. After your display in my shop, I had wondered."

"Yes, sir. It turns out that my family's legacy wands were more in tune with my personality."

The corner of his mouth quirked. "From our previous encounter, that doesn't surprise me overly much. May I see which one chose you?" She handed the wand over, taking great pains that she did not allow magic to flow into it. If she did, the wand would burn to ash, just like the one in Ollivander's shop did. "Ah, I remember this wand, remember it quite well. Made by my father, you see, and wielded by Arcturus Black, the previous head of the Blacks. Thirteen inches, dragon heartstring and fir from the uppermost reaches of Russia. Excellent wood for those who survive, and even thrive, in situations others would find inhospitable. Fir wands are also called to bearers with an intimidating demeanor, which fit Arcturus perfectly." He returned it to her after conjuring more wood and said, "Take good care of this wand, Ms. Black, and you will go far."

She stepped back from the table. _It's ironic,_ she thought, _that Ollivander's description fits me so well. Cissy and Andi sent me this one primarily because they were sure he would recognize it, and wielding the previous Lord Black's wand would reinforce the legitimacy of my position despite the fact that my parentage is currently unknown to society at large. Whether or not it would have matched me if I still had a core never came up._ She shook her thoughts away as the man went through the rest of the competitors, using Leroux's rowan wand to vanish the blocks when he was finished. Unfortunately, Skeeter's pudgy photographer then moved in front of the door. _Ah, yes, interviews. Wonderful._

"Let's see, we'll start with the youngest," the witch said. "Danny, how about we move elsewhere to give us a little… privacy?"

"You know the rules, Skeeter. I don't do interviews without one of my parents or Uncle Remus present."

_Not a bad idea, Potter._ She forced a sad smile on her face as the reporter turned to her. "I'm very sorry as well, Ms. Skeeter. The head of my family has forbidden me to speak to the press without his explicit permission. Perhaps if you went to him first?"

She ignored Skeeter's scowl as she followed Potter to where the photographer was setting up. She knew the woman's reputation — Andi certainly complained about her often enough — and she wasn't going to give the muckraker any ammunition. Let Sirius as Lord Black take care of that.

* * *

Jen entered Flitwick's office the following day and accepted his offer of tea. Once refreshments had been dispersed, he leaned back in his chair. "So, are you regretting entering the Tournament?"

"Not at all. It should actually be, dare I say, _fun_. Provided I don't die, of course."

"Of course." They sipped from their cups for a few moments, then he continued, "Regardless, I must apologize. When I made the suggestion that you participate, I never expected they would deny me the ability to assist you. I never would have advised this course of action otherwise."

She smiled. "Think nothing of it, Professor. Besides, there are ways around that restriction."

"Oh?"

"Yes. On a completely unrelated note, I was researching possible careers and found one that was especially interesting. I think I want to be a monster hunter."

Flitwick spluttered into his tea. "What? What in Merlin's name would make you even consider that? The death rate in that profession is nearly ninety-five percent in the first year alone!"

"I know, Professor. This is what I meant by ways around their rule."

"Explain," he said tersely.

"It boils down to the history of the Tournament and a pattern that has been followed each time it has taken place since 1307. The first task always involves some type of monster; there is always a ball on either the winter solstice, Christmas Day, or New Year's Eve; and the last task is always an obstacle course of one fashion or another. It doesn't matter how many tasks there are in total — the 1628 Tournament, for instance, had nine tasks, one a month for the entire school year — this pattern still applies. I doubt the organizers will break from this tradition.

"Now, the judges said I can't ask you for help with the tasks, but that's not what I'm doing, is it? I'm coming to you for help in choosing a career. If you showed me a few spells or strategies that would help me decide if a certain occupation is right for me… well, that's just you being a diligent head of house, isn't it?"

"Ms. Black, if I may be frank? I am very glad I didn't lose you to Professor Snape during your Sorting." He stood from his chair. "As for your 'possible career', I had a friend who spent a decade or so doing exactly that, and he taught me many of the spells he had to learn. If you follow me, we'll see if I still remember them."

They made their way down the convoluted stairwells and into a part of the second floor she had not been in before. "This entire wing of the castle is empty currently, but the DMLE used it for two years when some of Grindelwald's Knights of Walpurgis infiltrated the Ministry building and managed to destroy their training rooms and barracks. I was a fifth year when they moved in and spent quite a bit of my free time speaking with Warwick Townsend, their Combat Instructor and a retired Duelist. He's actually the person who encouraged me to become one myself. Ah, here we are."

The room they entered was twice the size of most of the school's classrooms and had a balcony open to the elements. Enchanted shields lined the walls, collaborating to produce a barrier a few inches inside. "We should be safe in here. Before we begin, how do you plan to learn the spells I am going to show you? I don't know how to teach wandless magic in the freeform fashion you use. Honestly, this is something I have been wondering since you first explained your approach to magic; I just never found a good time to ask."

_I can't seem to keep my secrets around here, can I? At least I can get away with half-truths._ "It's related to how I move around so well even though I'm blind. I have always been sensitive to magic, and when I lost my sight, that sense increased to compensate. Not only can I navigate in magical areas, I can deconstruct spells I observe and essentially reverse engineer them. Why don't you cast a spell and I'll demonstrate."

He nodded. Conjuring a grand marble pillar, three feet thick and seven feet tall, he sketched a tiny design in the air with his wand tip and fired a bolt of magic. The spell, thick as her wrist, slammed into the column and shattered it; only the last few inches of the top were still intact as the structure collapsed. He reformed the stone target. "This is called the Destruction Lance, or in some Teutonic circles, the Gungnir Curse. Extremely effective on most large, angry monsters. Give it a try."

_Wordless and nearly motionless; you're a scary man, Flitwick._ She concentrated on the feel of the spell as it had flown through the air: the jagged edges, the drilling tip, the unstable center just waiting for a chance to explode. Magic flowed out her hand and coalesced in her palm. She added emotion next, threading anger and hate into the spell. With a final check that everything was arranged how she wanted it, she swung her arm around in an awkward pitching motion. She might never play professional cricket, but her aim was true. Again the pillar collapsed.

"Goodness… Well, you certainly made your point, and on your first try, too. Quite impressive, Ms. Black. Out of curiosity, do you have any idea why your spell was dark red rather than orange? Spells generally don't change color from one wizard to another."

"I don't know. Perhaps it was because what I cast wasn't exactly the same but an approximation?" She knew that wasn't the reason; the difference in color was due to her producing a dark variant. Since most magic was neutral on the light-dark spectrum, she could introduce negative emotions into almost any spell and bypass the Arithmantic analysis normal witches would need to create a wanded dark spell. When Elsie discovered this ability, she had learned how to keep a constant anger simmering in the back of her mind.

She avoided using dark magic as a general rule due to the distinctive magical residue it left on objects it touched, but she needed to give a good showing here. Duplicating spells was far faster than designing them from the ground up, which was how she had learned most of her repertoire, and Flitwick was her best source for new curses. Had she simply copied him, the Destruction Lance would have been weaker due to her having just learned it; dark and light magic were both inherently stronger than neutral, so making it dark compensated for the natural power loss of a first casting. Given some time to refine the spell, she would be able to use the neutral version at the same level of effectiveness as she had the dark, but that wouldn't have been as impressive as what she had just done. "I'll work on it on my own time, and perhaps it will become closer to the original spell."

"Don't worry about it on my account, but practice is always a good thing. Now, the next spell is called the Demon Cutter, and it's one of the only things that can injure a manticore…"

* * *

Danny slipped out of the library as quiet as wizardly possible. Hermione was a good friend, and he liked that she was trying to help him when Ron ditched them because he was a jealous prat, but he just couldn't stand being in that room another second. He wasn't a bookworm like his mother or godbrother, who could spend days researching some obscure charm or plant no one cared about. Yes, he was scared about the first task, but there was no challenge that Gryffindor courage couldn't see him through.

_But it's hard to be brave when I'm going to face down a dragon_. He shivered, glad that the hallway was empty. Dragons were a class five monster, and it took groups of dragon handlers working together to bring one down. Even if he didn't have to fight it, being alone with only a wand was a terrifying prospect. Thank Merlin for Ludo Bagman! He wouldn't have thought of flying as a solution without the ex-Beater's help.

He was too wrapped up in his thoughts to notice the scarlet flash that knocked him out.

When he came to, he found that he was spread eagle in midair in a deserted part of the castle. "Come out, you Snake!" he shouted to his still-unseen attacker. "Just like a Slytherin, too scared to face me like a wizard! No, you have to curse me in the back!"

"First, I'm a witch, not a wizard," a hated voice said. Black stepped in front of him, her school robes abandoned in favor of a form-fitting dress in mottled shades of blue. He couldn't help but run his eyes over the curves it put on display. _Why does someone so good-looking have to be such a wicked bitch? Couldn't she be a hag like Parkinson or Bulstrode?_ "Second, I cursed you from the side, not the back. And third, attacking you when you can't see me isn't cowardice. It's pragmatism, something I've found you Lions to be sorely lacking."

She leaned backwards, empty air supporting her weight. That she did so without saying a word or even drawing her wand scared him more than his own position did. "I could add a fourth point about my being a Ravenclaw rather than a Slytherin, I suppose, but I'll let that one slide. That house was Hogwarts's second choice for me, after all."

"Of course it was. I knew as soon as I saw you that you were bad, and Slytherin's the place where all the bad wizards go. You deserve the Snake Pit."

"Aww, you say the sweetest things." She stood up and walked a little closer, close enough for him to catch a flash of red though her fringe. His mind immediately went to Voldemort, and he was scared all over again. "Then again, I know several people from Gryffindor who I would consider _'bad'_. Peter Pettigrew, for one." Danny caught himself nodding and stopped. "And then there's James and Lily Potter. Your parents. They're even worse in my mind."

"My mum and dad haven't done a thing to you!"

"I'm standing right here; there's no need to shout. And they have, actually. They went out of their way to ruin my life when I was but a child."

"You're lying! They wouldn't do that to any kid, not even one as twisted as you!"

"Oh, but they did." She paused, her head cocked. "You _do_ know who I am, don't you?"

He glowered at her. "Yeah, you're the girl who bad-mouthed my mum in Diagon and cursed my dad on the Express platform. You're evil, just like all the Blacks. _And_ you turned my godfather Dark. My dad said that he would never have anything to do with his family, so you must have done some dark magic to wrap him around your little finger. Well, it won't work on me. I was the only one in the class who could fight off Professor Moody's Imperius, and I'll break out of whatever you plan to do to me."

"Correction, you were one of _two_ who could resist his Imperius. I just didn't mind doing what he wanted me to do."

"But… he said to kiss the person next to you. If you were in control of yourself, you wouldn't have kissed Patil."

"Have you _met_ Padma?" she asked incredulously. "The girl's going to be an absolute fox when she's all grown up. Why would I give up the chance to take a taste, especially when I had such a convenient excuse handed to me?

"I must say, though, I'm stunned that you don't know who I am. Sirius told me you were there when he and your parents were talking about me. Here, I'll give you a hint: We were born minutes apart on the same day, sired by the same man, delivered by the same woman. What are we?" She chuckled. "Sorry, I've apparently been listening to too many riddles. The price of being a Ravenclaw, I guess."

Against his better judgement, he rolled the riddle around in his head and paled as he realized what she was driving at. "No. You can't be her."

"Hi there, _little brother_."

"No. That's not true. That's impossible! Mum and Dad said you were a Squib living with the Muggles!" Another thought crossed his mind, one that nearly made him vomit. If what she said was true… _Oh, sweet Merlin's ghost, I was checking out my __**sister**__!_

"For four years, I did live with Muggles. Then I lived with a witch, and then Sirius found me. And for the record, I was never a Squib. Your parents are just idiots." She smirked and pulled her hair out of the way so he could see the cloth winding around her head and covering her eyes. He gaped at the sight. "They were the cause, if only indirectly, of every hardship in my life. Now, as _heartwarming_ as our conversation has been, we really do need to get back to the issue at hand. What do you know about the first task?"

He shook his head, wanting desperately to forget that his most recent enemy was secretly his blind sister who happened to not be a Squib. "I don't know anything."

She patted him gently on the cheek. "Liar."

"I don't!"

"And I'm the reincarnation of Morgan le Fey. Mandy Brocklehurst told me you've been spending all your time in the library with Granger this past week, and let's face it, you aren't the type of person to do that for fun. No, you were in there because you need important information, and you need it _right now_. We don't have any big assignments coming up, so it's not that, but the first task is only a week away; ergo, you found out what we have to do and are drafting your strategy."

She smiled darkly, her mouth showing far too many teeth for his comfort. "Now, this is the last time I'll ask nicely. What. Do. You. Know?"

"Even if I did know something, I wouldn't tell you. You may or may not be my sister, but you're definitely too Dark to be a Potter." He spat in her face. "Do your worst."

"I hoped you would say something like that."

Pain. Danny's head felt like it was being shredded and yanked out his eye sockets. Memories flashed in front of his mind: studying with Hermione, walking through the Forest alongside Ron, smuggling Norbert out of the castle, eating rock cakes with Hagrid, diving in a Quidditch game, roaring bonfires, seven dragons in a clearing…

He was forced to watch the entire trip through the Forest again, hear Hagrid's flirting with the Beauxbatons headmistress, smell rotten meat and scorched wood. Finally, his vision cleared, and he saw Black back away from him with a frown marring her features. "Dragons? Then again, this is bloodsport; _of course_ there would be dragons. How would the Tournament be any fun without a chance of death or serious maiming? And getting past one will be even more difficult than simply killing it. Bugger, Cissy's going to be furious."

"W-what?" he stuttered out. "What did you do to me?!"

She negligently wiped his saliva off her cheek. "Nothing much, I just ripped a hole into your mind to search through your memories. It hurt so much because it's harder to extract long-term memories than short-term. Well, that and I don't take kindly to people spitting on me. Don't you see now how much easier it would have been to just tell me?"

He glared, mainly because it was the only thing he could do in his situation, and she shrugged in response. "Fine, be a stubborn arse. By the way, thanks for letting me try my hand at a little villainous dialogue. I've never had the opportunity to do so, and I must say, it's quite entertaining."

"You think this is the end, Black? Dumbledore won't let you get away with this! You'll be expelled and sent to Azkaban!"

He expected her to show fear, not laugh wickedly. "How is he going to find out in the first place? You're not going to remember any of this. There are no portraits here, nor were there any in the hallway I kidnapped you from. I put up a barrier to keep the elves away, and if that bloody overdone turkey is dumb enough to come after us, we'll finally discover whether or not a phoenix chick can withstand being crushed."

He stared at her in shocked horror. _What kind of person would be cruel enough to want to hurt a phoenix? They're creatures of pure Light!_

"Obviously someone who's Dark," she answered to his unspoken question. "Really? I force my way into your memories, and you don't consider the idea that I may be capable of listening to your thoughts? Now I see why you aren't a Ravenclaw; you don't think nearly enough. You're too used to listening to the old goat-fucker Dumbledore."

"Don't call him that! He's the greatest wizard who ever lived!"

"And you're a rabid fanatic who's practically foaming at the mouth." She snapped her fingers, and soap suds poured uncontrollably from between his lips. "And the picture is complete. We could continue in this vein, but I have better things to do with my time. Nighty night." She flicked her wrist, and he knew no more.

Danny stumbled for a moment before catching his balance; he glanced around the hallway but found it empty. Thankful that no one had seen him trip over thin air, he continued to the Quidditch pitch. He always thought more clearly when he was flying, and he needed to practice anyway. A few hours could be the difference between safely completing the first task and being burnt to a crisp.

* * *

"Professor Flitwick," Jen asked after dinner that night, "what do you know about dragons?"

* * *

**So _that's_ why Sally-Anne Perks didn't show up for her OWLs; Jen memory charmed her into oblivion : ) Honestly, I think Rowling just forgot about her by book 5, but two stories that address this topic are _Jamie Evans and Fate's Fool_ by The Mad Mad Reviewer (albeit obliquely) and _The Strange Disappearance of SallyAnne Perks_ by Paimpont.**

**Yes, Ollivander remembers that Jen's magic couldn't bond to a wand and uses her body as a conduit instead. He didn't bring that up because, well, why should he? She brought a wand, he weighed it; that he knows she won't _use_ it doesn't matter to him in the slightest.**

**Ever since I read about Fawkes swallowing a Killing Curse and regressing into a chick in book 5, I've wondered what would have happened if Voldemort had been closer and took the opportunity to step on him. The canon description of Fawkes's rebirth is that he undergoes a burning, and there's a small chick poking its head out of the leftover ash. A chick's body isn't that large, though, so would an even smaller chick be born? Or are phoenix chicks mortal?**

**Anyone who finds the movie quote in this chapter will get a brownie.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	19. Giant Lizards

**InsanitySorrow 2.0:** Jen doesn't really plan to be a monster hunter; that was just an excuse should she and Flitwick be caught. Flitwick is never mentioned in canon as being a part of the Order, no, and I think it's because he would be a bit too lethal for Dumbledore's tastes. Danny's the way he is because James is still alive. I do have to disagree with you about Malfoy, though; I interpreted his actions in book 6 as him talking the talk but not having the guts to get his hands dirty. The rest of the Blacks will attend the First Task, and you'll see them next chapter.

**Cytokinesis:** Memory charms follow the same rules here as they do in _Faery Heroes_: they can be undone within a week from when they were cast, but after that, they're permanent. Jen could _theoretically_ "unravel" a spell after it's been cast, but it moves too fast for that to be practical. Much easier to conjure a wall to block it.

**Kythorian:** My disclaimers are mostly just things I personally didn't like, regardless of if they are in character or not. The problem with Jen taking revenge against the Potters in the way you suggest is that Danny has no reason to believe her; take another look at his line before she reads his mind. "You _may or may not_ be my sister, but you're definitely too Dark to be a Potter." In half a page, he's gone from freaking out about them being related to debating if she's telling the truth. I've seen that kind of instant acceptance many times in fanfiction but never understood it; if someone I hate taunts me with shocking information, you better believe I won't trust them without some form of corroboration.

**Master Bombadil:** All Soul Arts fall under the umbrella of black magic, so Jen knows about and can recognize a Horcrux, even if she can't make one herself. As for why she worked as a prostitute when she can teleport and control minds, it's mainly because, like traditional magical education, she learned those towards the end of her tutoring. She had already been part of Candyland for several years by that point, so she was comfortable there. She couldn't take large quantities of things or return to the same store often for a couple of articles of clothing without catching the attention of the Muggle cops, and if she used magic, the DMLE could become interested in her; she preferred anonymity to comfort. Of course, she can also be a selfish little bitch when she wants and refused to stick her neck too far out for the other kids at the brothel.

**I hope all of you had a good Christmas and New Year. I know I did; two weeks without a textbook or anatomy atlas in sight! The movie quote in last chapter ("That's not true. That's impossible!") is from **_**Star Wars V, The Empire Strikes Back**_**. Considering how Luke and Leia were eyeing each other at the end of the first movie, I thought the line was incredibly appropriate.**

**Disclaimer:** Were the dragons for the First Task left unchained in book 4? If so, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.

* * *

**Chapter 19  
****Giant Lizards**

Jen stepped into the Great Hall on Monday, only to sigh as a wave of impatient animosity swept over her from the Hufflepuff table. Normally she wouldn't have cared what was wrong with them, but that was her current destination; anything that was able to rile up the normally laid-back Badgers could make Diggory's overprotective entourage unwilling to let him be in her presence alone. Another sigh escaped her as she recognized the instigator. _Granger, what the hell are you up to now?_

"I thought Hufflepuffs supported fairness and justice! How can you ignore this?!" the prude shrieked. "These poor beings are horribly mistreated, but you just sit here and say, _'Oh, that's the way it's always been'_!"

Surprisingly, it was Susan who shot to her feet and faced off with the Gryffindor. "We can ignore you because you're just making broad accusations. Unlike your House, we don't blindly leap into situations. Yes, some house elves are abused, but most families treat them with respect, even love."

"They're slaves!"

"I think Nippy, my family's elf, would disagree with you," Susan said, eliciting a surprised gasp from Granger. "I've always considered her a member of the family, just like Auntie Amelia. Now, if you're done insulting us, go away." The rest of the fourth-year Puffs stood as well. Left with no out, the lonely Lion huffed indignantly and stormed away as best she could with her tail between her legs.

"My my, I've always heard that fighting an angry badger is a terrifying prospect. Now I understand what they meant." Jen slid next to the reseated girl and jerked a thumb back towards Granger. "Mind telling me what that was all about?"

Susan growled lightly. "She's on some crusade to save the house elves from their _'vile, despicable owners'_. Apparently, their deepest, most secret desire is to be given clothes so they can be free to do what they want, and if they _don't_ want that or don't hate their family, they've been totally brainwashed and need her to make that decision for them."

"Seriously? I'll have to make sure she never meets Kreacher; if he heard that, he'd chase her out of the house with a hot frying pan. Brainwashed, _please_." Her pronouncement was met by snickers from everyone in earshot.

"That'd be funny to see. Why are you here, though? I don't think you've ever visited us before."

"No, I haven't, though I really should have. I actually came over for a quick word with Diggory before breakfast, but it seems I was a tad early." She twisted on the bench to face the approaching sixth-year. "You have time for a chat? Privately?"

Diggory nodded to her as he set his bag on the floor. "Short one, sure. Lead on."

They entered a small room off the Hall, where she sealed and silenced the door before refocusing her attention on him. "I have good news, bad news, and worse news. Which do you want first?"

"That's not what I expected to hear this morning," he muttered. "Give me the good news."

"I know what the First Task is."

"Really? You're sure? Excellent." He grinned broadly, but it dropped as a thought crossed his mind. "Wait, how did you even find out?"

"Someone who will deny any and all involvement should you ask about it," she replied, a smile playing on her own lips. _Primarily because Potter doesn't remember revealing it to me._ "Bad news, we have to get past dragons."

"Dragons?" he asked weakly.

"Which brings us to the worse news. These are just _any_ dragons; they're nesting mothers, eggs included."

"That's worse, all right. Merlin's soggy socks, a mother dragon." The older boy shivered. "This isn't going to be easy, not with only a few days to prepare. When did you hear about it?"

"Yesterday. I wanted confirmation from a second source before I told you. You up for this, Diggory?"

"Call me Cedric. You're giving me a chance not to die this weekend; you bloody well have the right to use my first name."

"Jen." Though addressing him by that wouldn't entice her to trust him any further that she already had, she knew it would him. He wasn't as cynical as she. This would strengthen their alliance at no cost to her.

"To answer your question, I don't really have much of an option to _not_ be ready, do I? Still, I can cobble together _something_. Transfiguration's my best subject, so I'll probably work with that. Since you haven't said anything about it, I guess your friend didn't find out which breeds they had."

She shook her head. Potter had been too distracted with the long jets of flame and the sharp teeth of the Horntail to identify the others. "Is it uncivilized of us to wish ourselves good luck?"

"Honestly, I think we can use all the luck we can get right now."

* * *

Wiping crust from her eyes, Luna glared at the Shuffling Whibblestumper tugging at the hem of her nightgown. She enjoyed having friends, of course, but no one ever told her about the downsides, like being dragged from her warm bed at three in the morning because one of them needed her. A glance down the stairs to the common room quickly revealed who it was: Jen had claimed the couch and table closest to the fire and was speaking to a quill hovering above a sheet of parchment. Shooing away the nine-legged canine, she crept down the steps but took no pains to be hide her presence. Her friend probably knew she was there already.

"On the other hand, the arc length, _theta_, of the shield's panels may be freely manipulated without altering the energy cost. Care should be taken when doing so in a true combat situation, as decreasing the width of each panel, and thereby increasing the number, improves the shield's ability to withstand area spells like _Incendio_ but simultaneously diminishes the protection offered against linear spells such as _Stupefy_, and vice versa. This is why the default _Protego_ charm produces fifteen panels; a balanced defense is best unless the caster can reasonably expect to face spells primarily of only one type." Plucking the DictaQuill from the parchment to lay it on the table, Jen leaned back and asked, "Why are you up so late?"

"Whibblestumper," she said, and that was all that was needed. Jen may not necessarily believe her about every creature she saw, but the older girl at least kept an open mind and paid attention rather than blow her off, which was more than she could say about anyone other than her father. It even made up for the early hour.

Jen pursed her lips briefly. "I remember that name. Those are the freaky puppy ones, right?"

"Yes, though they are more like jackals in appearance than dogs or wolves. They are born and grow as friendships do, then find one of the two people should the other need help of some kind, whether that's actual physical assistance or just someone to talk to. So really, _I_ should be asking why _you're_ up so late."

"Couldn't sleep." Jen patted the cushion beside her, and Luna happily curled up on the fire-warmed space. "The First Task is in a few hours, and rather than toss and turn in bed all night, I figured I could get some homework out of the way."

"That's the Ravenclaw way. Nothing can stop us from learning, not even staring death in the face."

"Death might be preferable to what's coming," Jen muttered unhappily.

Shrugging her shoulders at the strange response, she leaned over to glance at the half-finished essay. "Arithmancy? This looks quite a bit easier than the problem sets Vector keeps assigning us."

"That's because you didn't see me analyzing the formula before I could start the essay. You wouldn't believe how complicated it was."

"And being blind can't have made it any easier. Speaking of which…" Luna's hands carefully brushed Jen's uncommonly long fringe aside. She was a bit surprised that the girl wasn't wearing her customary blindfold, but paid it no mind as she examined the partly open eyes. "You told me that your eyes and lids were heavily scarred, but they don't look bad, just white and a little rough."

"That's because no matter how much of a bastard he may be, Snape's still a certifiable genius with potions. At the rate his concoction's working, my eyesight should be totally restored by early this summer, possibly even before the year's out."

She sat back after returning the locks of raven hair to their original positions. "That's wonderful! I'm curious, though; I thought you and Snape were getting along better since you told him about your problem. Why insult him?"

"Just because he's done me a favor doesn't mean I won't call a spade a spade. It doesn't mean I _don't_ like him, either, only that he can be a foul git when he wants. Of course, so can I," Jen said with a grin. "Seeing again is still months away, so don't get too worked up about it yet."

"Makes sense." She shivered in the cold air and scooted closer to the warm brunette. Jen huffed playfully but lifted an arm, allowing her to snuggle. _Much better_, she thought sleepily. "I just realized it, but you never told me what this Task is."

"No, I didn't."

She directed a mild glare at the Black heiress, but to no avail. Giving up on the subtle route, she poked the girl in the belly. "Spill."

"You'll just have to wait and see with the rest of the school. It's only six hours or so from now, anyway." Jen smiled at her yawn. "Go ahead and get back to sleep. I'll make sure Whibblestumpers don't bother you again tonight."

"You're why it got me up to begin with," she retorted, but she repositioned her head on Jen's shoulder and closed her eyes anyway. It _was_ early, after all, and she was still quite tired.

* * *

Flitwick fetched Jen from the Great Hall immediately after she finished her breakfast and led to a walled clearing located a short distance into the Forbidden Forest. "Have you decided on a final strategy?" he asked nervously as they approached a large tent.

"Yes, I did. Taking into account just how resistant a dragon's hide is, I doubt any of my spells, even those you taught me this past week, will have much of an effect beyond angering it. I did a little additional research using the books you recommended and found that dragons hunt primarily by sight, so my best bet is to make myself invisible and blow up the ground at its feet to keep its attention off me. Hopefully that should be enough."

"And if it's not?"

"Plan B's fairly straightforward," she said with a grimace. "Run like hell and try not to get killed."

He goggled at her. "Well, at least you won't forget it."

"I don't like it any more than you do," _and probably even less_, "but there's not much else I can do." There truly wasn't; dragons had been known to shrug off everything short of the Killing Curse with sufficient motivation, and should her plan fail to keep the beast distracted, it would have no shortage of _that_. If she had some of her dragon's tissue and the necessary herbs, she _could_ create a doll through which to disable it, but that would require performing black magic in public. She liked her head attached to her shoulders, thank you very much. "Worst case scenario, I hide behind the judges."

Despite the gravity of the situation, Flitwick couldn't help but snort at that. "Just keep your wits about you. We're Ravenclaws; our minds are our greatest weapons."

"I'll try to remember that when I've got tons of scaly monster breathing fire on my heels." She sighed as they reached the opening of the tent. "All jokes aside, Professor, I really do want to thank you. If it weren't for your assistance, I'm not sure how I'd get through this."

He held her hand in his own and gave it a fond pat. "You'd have found a way, of that I have no doubts. I need to take my seat, but know that I and your friends will be cheering for you. And no matter what, your score is worth nothing compared to your life. Observe, plan, and try not to do anything too Gryffindor-esque." He reluctantly walked away, and she entered the tent.

She was the second one there; Victor Krum was perched on a stool along one wall, fear and a slight hint of desperation wafting off of him. Jen moved closer and claimed the adjacent seat. "Krum, you okay?" _Potter's memories showed Karkaroff already knows and likely told Krum; has he found out additional information since then?_

He nodded his head vigorously. "No_._" At her short laugh, he smiled a little and continued, "You know vhat dis Task is, _da_? Ve have a right to be somevhat nervous. I keep asking myself, 'Victor, vhat vere you dinking? You knew not to, vhat is phrase, bite off more dan you can jew.' And dere's no vay to back out now."

"I think we'll be okay in the end. The British Ministry can't afford to have any deaths in this Tournament; there are just too many high-profile champions. Potter and I are nobility, Diggory's father works in the Ministry, Delacour's father is high up in the French government from what I've been able to find, and you're a world-famous Quidditch player. My guess is that there are a number of safeguards in place that we don't have a clue about; we'll be facing an _illusion_ of danger, rather than _real_ danger." She forced a wan grin on her face. "At least, that's what I'm telling myself to ward off my fear."

"Is it verking?"

"Not really, but I've got nothing else."

Krum nodded solemnly at that, and they waited impatiently as the other competitors drifted into the tent. When Potter finally made an appearance, Bagman, who had arrived a few minutes earlier, stepped up and called for their attention. "Well, now that we're all here, it's time to fill you in! Your audience is assembling as we speak, so I'll offer each of you this bag," he shook the silk sack in his hand, "from which you will each select a small model of the thing you are about to face! There are different, er, _varieties_, you see. There's something else I was supposed to tell you, what was it?… Oh, yes, your task is to _collect the golden egg_!"

_Collect a golden egg from a dragon? Oh, sure, like __**that**__ won't be difficult._ Dragons were notorious even in the Muggle World for how jealously they defended their treasure hordes, and now she had to steal a lump of gold in the shape of an egg from a nest, where there were several real eggs sitting around? _Baron, protect me from my own decisions, for in hindsight this was an incredibly stupid idea._

Seeing that they all understood his directions, he opened the sack and offered it to her. "Ladies first." She reached in and withdrew an animated model of a dragon with a medal around its neck. It snapped at her fingers several times before she petrified it. "Ah, the Antipodean Opaleye, a dragon native to New Zealand. Don't be deceived by its beauty; the females are considered some of the most dangerous creatures around."

Bagman continued passing the bag around; Leroux was pleased with his Romanian Longhorn, much more so than Eberhardt was with the Ukrainian Ironbelly she drew. Potter was downright furious that he would have to face the Horntail he saw in the forest.

"You have each pulled out the dragon you will face, and the numbers refer to the order in which you are to take them on," Bagman explained. Jen examined the pendant more closely; not detecting anything with her sonar, she brushed a thumb against it and found a seven shallowly engraved on its surface. "Junior champions, if you take a look in this cabinet, you will find three fire-resistant cloaks. Don't get too cocky; they may give you some defense against your dragons' flame, but you must still be on your guards for their claws and teeth. Now, I have to leave you because I'm commentating. Mr. Diggory, you're first; just go out into the enclosure when you hear the whistle, all right? Danny, could I have a quick word? Outside?"

"I wonder what zat ees about," Delacour pondered aloud.

She shook herself from how the older girl's figure felt through the tight robes; she had forgotten to apply her charm when the Veela had entered. Clearing the lust from her mind long enough to cast it, she answered, "Not sure, but I expect it's some type of last-minute help."

"Surely your Meeneestry would not stoop so low."

"When it comes to Potter, you'd be surprised." She threw herself back onto the stool she had claimed earlier, only for Cedric to join her. "Yes?"

"You going to be okay?" he asked quietly. "Figure out a plan?"

"Yes, though that's not stopping my stomach from practicing its food-to-butterfly transfiguration. I was Sorted into Ravenclaw for a reason, and strange as it may seem, it was _not_ because I make a habit of putting myself in dangerous situations. Rather the reverse, actually." He laughed, but everyone could hear how hollow it was. Now that they were only a few minutes away from facing an angry dragon, it was clear they were all reevaluating their decisions to participate.

The first whistle blew shortly after Potter reentered the tent, and Cedric departed without the usual spring in his step. The walls were charmed to allow no sound but the signal to reach them, and the silence quickly became oppressive. Minutes felt like hours, the monotony broken only by another champion being called out to confront their fate. Finally, the whistle sounded a sixth time.

Potter rose from his chair and made his way to the cabinet, only to find that it wouldn't open. He pulled the doors, rattled them, even cast a bevy of unlocking charms, but they stayed stubbornly closed. "But… he said…" He turned around, and his jaw dropped open. "You!"

"What exactly did you think you were doing, Potter?" Jen asked sweetly. Her blank wand was still pointed at the cabinet while the hand gripping it directed the magic holding the doors shut. "I do believe that the cloaks are for the _junior_ champions."

"I'm a junior champion!"

"No, you're a _senior_ champion for an unnamed fourth school. Three juniors, three cloaks, and both Leroux and Eberhardt have already taken theirs out. The only one left in there is mine."

He gaped at her, his face heating as it flushed in anger. "But I need it, and I have to face my dragon first!"

"That is my problem… how?" The whistle blew again, louder and sharper. She motioned at the door with her left hand. "Your adoring fans await. I doubt you want to disappoint them."

Potter glared even as he stalked to the flaps. "If I die, it'll be your fault."

"I'll be sure to put flowers on your grave, maybe some snapdragons."

He stomped out, and she waited for a count of one hundred before she moved to the door as well. Sticking her head out, the noise the charms had repelled came flooding into her ears. She whistled and pulled herself back into the blessed quiet, and a few seconds later, her partner in crime entered as well.

"Loki, what would I ever do without you?" The raven croaked gleefully as he dropped a small sack into her lap before perching on her shoulder. She pulled her mirror out of the bag, enlarged it, and with a few swirls of her hand upon its cold surface, fell into the prismatic depths.

Her original plan was to examine the layout of the arena she would be fighting in, but now that she had begun her scrying, she decided to investigate how the others had fared. Concentrating on Cedric's mind and magical core, the glowing mist surrounding her swirled and dissipated; she was in another tent, one that was partitioned to give each champion privacy. The Hufflepuff was apparently bored, sitting on the edge of an examination table and swinging his feet, but unharmed.

Slipping through the wall toward the opposite side of the tent — for what was a physical barrier to a mental projection? — she traversed each participant's cubicle and took stock of their injuries. Cedric and Leroux were the only two unhurt; Delacour had a sprained ankle if the bandage was anything to go by, and Krum had sustained a burn to his buttocks and upper thighs that required him to strip so he could rub a salve in. Jen was not ashamed about spending a half-minute or so longer than necessary examining him during the process.

Unlike the others, Ingrid Eberhardt was truly injured. She was also unconscious at the moment while Pomfrey assisted two men in green Healers' robes, their wands moving in continuous patterns as they tried desperately to repair the gaping tears in her back. Considering that the girl's vertebrae and even spinal cord were clearly visible in places, Jen wondered how much they could do for her. Silently vowing to check on the German champion later, she sought out Potter.

Lights and fog swept by her again, and she found herself staring at the Horntail's paw as it came crashing down.

After reflexively jumping away and calming her racing heart, she took stock of the arena. The nest was positioned at the far end from the entrance, golden egg shining brightly among the real gray ones, with the dragon a dozen yards closer in. A second glance at the beast showed that it had been tethered to the ground, though the chain was long enough for it to wander anywhere in its half of the enclosure that it wanted to.

_So, there's the nest and eggs, there's the dragon… Where's Potter?_ Finally paying attention to Bagman's commentary, she looked up. _Oh._

Jen could say many things about the boy she had the misfortune of being related to: he was an arrogant, idiotic follower; more concerned with singing Dumbledore's praises than becoming powerful in his own right; a quintessential Gryffindor; and most importantly, the spawn of two people she would dearly love to see ripped to shreds and laying in wide pools of their own blood. She could not, however, deny that he was talented on a broom. He swerved and dipped, staying just out of reach of the snapping jaws seeking a taste of his flesh and the flames being sprayed at him. She was reluctantly impressed.

_Still, the dragon doesn't look like it's really trying_. In fact, it was standing solidly on the ground, only moving enough to stay between Potter and the eggs. Realization struck her then; a flying human wasn't enough of a threat for it to put everything it had into eliminating the creature invading its domain. _Dragons aren't that intelligent, so if I gave it a bigger threat, it would focus single-mindedly on that and leave me alone. That would be safer than destroying the ground at its feet, but what could I use for a diversion?_

Thinking furiously, she shoved her hands in the pockets of her robes, and her hand brushed against something. She felt it again, now recognizing what it was. An evil smile split her face. _Oh, yes, this will work __**perfectly**__._

She jerked her mind out of her mirror before shrinking it and dropping it back into the bag. Seeing that she was finished, Loki picked it up and flew out the still-open tent flap. He understood that his mistress needed all her concentration for what she was about to do.

In the minutes before the whistle blew yet again, she scratched several copies each of a few Futhark runes onto the object's surface: algiz for resilience, uruz for strength, ansuz for communication and authority. When it was sufficiently covered, she gently poured magic into the symbols, focusing on what she wanted each to do. Finally, she was done; her little pet was enchanted, if minimally, and now she just had to wait until she was in the arena to apply the last spell.

She was walking down the path between tent and dragon before the whistle was finished sounding. Upon entering the enclosure, she couldn't help but smirk; the poor monster wouldn't know what hit it.

"And for our last contest, Jennifer Black facing an Antipodean Opaleye!" Cheers rang from the stands, and they only increased when she waved back. Once the students had screamed themselves out, she faced the dragon, which like the Horntail was positioned between her and the egg. "Ms. Black, you may start… NOW!"

"You should enjoy this," she muttered, tossing her distraction to the ground. "I brought you a playmate." Then she enlarged it. Ten, twenty, thirty feet long; only when it was the same size as her foe did she stop. Finding the mental connection she had given it, she sent a command.

The no-longer-miniature dragon statue, medal still dangling from its neck, roared in unmistakeable challenge.

One thing she had found in her research was that dragons were _incredibly_ territorial. In the wild, this wasn't so much of a problem due to their small number, but reserve-bred dragons started attacking each other practically as soon as they hatched. These fights were vicious, responsible for more injuries to dragon handlers trying to separate the beasts than any other incident. Needless to say, as soon as the Opaleye saw and heard the simulacrum, it went berserk.

_Okay, maybe not my best idea_, Jen thought as she scrambled out of the way of the two behemoths before she could be stepped on in reality. The earth shook as they fell upon each other, jaws aiming at the opposite's throat. She had left the behavior charms on the model to eliminate the need to constantly guide its actions, making it difficult for the audience to tell which dragon was real and which was a toy as they tussled.

With the nest unguarded, it was a simple matter to run there and pick up the only non-organic egg. Not so simple was getting back; the battle had moved towards her, and now she was boxed in. Also a problem was that the protective enchantments had weakened because of the increased size of the construct, leaving her dragon to lose one of its front forelegs and a large section of wing. She gulped as the real creature bit into its tail and pulled half of it off. Once her defender was destroyed and the dragon spotted her, she would undoubtedly be next.

_Pounce!_, she shouted through the link. The animated statue did just that, knocking the monster onto its back and snapping the bones in one wing. Acting on its programmed instincts, it sank sharp fangs into the exposed neck and jerked back, spraying the ground with blood from enormous carotid arteries. The Opaleye stilled in ten seconds, and the vibrations present in all living creatures faded away in fifteen.

The crowd, previously speechless in amazement, veritably exploded. She ignored the noise, though, directing the construct to move to one side before attempting to shrink it back to a manageable size. Unfortunately, the damage proved too much, and it crumbled with a flat _whump_. She stepped to the carcass's head and amplified her voice to be heard over the din. "Quiet!"

The crowd fell silent, allowing her next words to be clearly heard. "As slayer of this monster and in accordance with the Rights of Conquest, I, Jennifer Bellatrix Black, do hereby claim this dragon in the name of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black."

* * *

**If it isn't obvious, I was a huge Godzilla fan when I was a kid. The inspiration for Jen to claim the dragon's body came from wordhammer's **_**Holly Evans and the Spiral Path**_**.**

**There's another level to Jen's last taunt to Danny beyond the name; in the Victorian flower language, snapdragons mean arrogance or presumption. Basically, she's saying that if he dies, it will be his own fault.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	20. Opportunities Unforeseen

**Pokemon Master Razit, ShadowCub:** She doesn't get the eggs, just the dragon itself.

**whitetigerwolf:** The junior champions will indeed do all the same tasks; the only difference is that they will generally get some "advantage" that the senior champions have to do without. The advantage will be different for each task, obviously.

**skywiseskychan:** Jen acts a lot more social than Harry did in canon, so the Puffs don't have as many reservations about her. Also, Cedric discreetly informed them that he and she would be working together since they're both Hogwarts champions, so her coming over wasn't quite as out of the blue as it appeared. A lot of the leeway Luna gets is due to her being such a gentle soul and Jen finding her amusing.

**jadesabrexiv:** The Ministry and Hogwarts won't do anything to Jen for two reasons, both of which I mention below. While your suggestion would be a good way for Jen and Hermione to learn about each other, Jen doesn't have any reason to do so at the moment. The mention of house elves in the first chapter is about how the Dursleys treated Jen; Lily shares a similar viewpoint to Hermione, so the Potters don't have one of their own. Dobby did, in fact, try to warn Danny away from Hogwarts. Malfoy's pins are even more effective against Danny for the simple reason that he wasn't chosen for the junior spot; instead, he somehow "cheated" for the more prestigious senior position. The actual mechanics of black magic aren't really important at the moment, but Jen could make a Death Focus because that was her first human kill; not only was a life sacrificed, but so was her innocence. The dragon bones hold no more power than they would had it died of old age.

**Faraway-R:** I've never heard that proverb before; it's certainly more fun that "Living well is the best revenge". Jen's role in the coming war isn't totally clear, but you can be sure she won't be siding with the Order. She's far too Dark for that. I don't plan for her to be much in the way of a front-line fighter, either.

**Disclaimer:** Did Harry _really_ outfly a dragon in the First Task with nothing more than a scratch? If so, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.

* * *

**Chapter 20  
****Opportunities Unforeseen**

"I don't need to be in here, Madam Pomfrey. See, I'm fine!"

"Be that as it may, Ms. Black, _all_ champions are to be examined after every Task," the nurse said as she ran a wand over the blind girl. "If you're truly uninjured, you will be back out getting your score in just a few minutes."

Jen huffed at the unnecessary tests. Once she had been poked and prodded to the woman's satisfaction, Pomfrey went to the tent flap. "You may see her now. Last cubicle on the right."

Five figures entered and immediately ran towards her. Barely did she have a chance to stand before Narcissa grabbed her. "Jen Black, don't you _ever_ do something that foolhardy again! Do you have any idea how terrified we were?!" The woman pulled her into a tight embrace.

"I'm okay, Auntie, I'm okay." Jen turned to the rest of her family. "What the bloody hell happened?"

"You fighting a dragon happened," Ted said succinctly. "We all were scared out of our minds with worry, though obviously some more than others…" He nodded at his sister-in-law, who Jen could feel silently crying into her shoulder. This worried her; Cissy would never lose her Pureblood decorum in public like this.

She cast a quick cheering charm on her aunt, friend, and former lover to slow the tears and set the woman on the exam table. She then sat next to Cissy, Andi taking the opposite side. "I was in no real danger. It was far too focused on my simulacrum to pay any attention to me."

"And we know that, up here." Sirius rapped on his head with his left hand, his right moving to his chest. "Down here, though, we were still stuck on you being in a pen with an angry dragon. I just hope the other Tasks aren't like this."

"Well, this _was_ the Gryffindor Task. It makes sense that it would be the insanely dangerous one." Sirius put on an affronted expression and was about to respond when a commotion from the stall next to them caught their attention.

"What do you mean, you don't know if he'll be okay?!"

Jen felt Pomfrey quiver in irritation. "Dammit, Lily, I'm a school nurse, not a Healer! That means I treat broken bones and other minor injuries; I don't have a clue what to do about second-degree dragonfire burns! He can't be treated here."

"Please, just tell me my baby's going to be all right!"

"Healer Carson is one of St. Mungo's best and a specialist in creature-induced injuries. If he says to trust him, I will. I've told you all I know; for an actual prognosis, you'll need to floo to the hospital and ask him."

"What caused _that_ drama?" Jen asked, feeling one of the three people in Potter's cubicle leave in a rush.

"Danny Potter flew a victory lap once he had his egg. The Horntail didn't like that too much and decided to teach him a lesson. The fire caught his legs and the tail end of his broom, but the kid managed to crash right in front of this tent before he passed out." Jen nodded at Dora's words; it explained the charred wood she had noticed on the way in. "Dragonfire's a lot like dark magic in that it resists magical healing. A friend of mine, Charlie Weasley, is a dragon handler, and he's covered in scars from them."

"He's not the worst injury, either," Sirius added. "That Durmstrang girl tried to attack her dragon directly. She was aiming at the eyes, at least, but she was too slow to get out of its way when it hit back. The handlers had to stun it and carry her in here."

"Yes, Danny was lucky today," interrupted the second Potter parent as he rounded the thin wall between cubicles.

Sirius scowled in his direction. "What are you doing here, James?"

"Look, I get that you're angry at me, and I don't blame you one bit. I just wanted to check on Jenny —"

"Thank you for the concern, _Lord Potter_," she replied. The formal title caused the man to wince. "However, not being a member of your House, I would ask that you not address me with such familiarity."

He gaped. "Not a member of my House? You're my _daughter_, for Merlin's sake!"

"One you wanted nothing to do with. You cast me out when I was an infant, if you care to remember."

"You have to understand that I only did that —"

"Your actions speak for themselves," she snapped, cutting him off. "There are only so many ways to interpret abandonment. However, I fail to comprehend why you are seeking to reconcile with me now. If you did not want me when you discarded me and did not regret your actions for the next _thirteen years_, what would make you change your mind now?"

Cissy, her eyes dry, glared at the unwanted visitor. "He's inviting you back because you're a dragon slayer. It is incredibly rare for someone to kill a dragon on their own; the most recent was Matthew Abbott in the 1830s, and he was a fully trained wizard facing a young adult, not a student killing a nesting mother. You just made yourself extremely valuable politically and financially."

"Politically I understand — the masses love their heroes, after all — but financially? The dragon belongs to our House, not me."

"Apparently you didn't read the Rights of Conquest in their entirety. Even though you claimed the carcass for our House, we are obligated to give you a third of the profit, or you can sue for the dragon's entire worth. The reason I said what I did is that your bride price as a dragon slayer is at least five times what it would have been yesterday, likely ten times."

"That's not what I'm doing," Potter yelped. "This isn't some game!"

"What other reason could it be? You've already shown that you feel no paternal affection towards me," Jen retorted. No matter how he denied it, politics had to be the why he wanted her back in House Potter. According to her aunts' lessons the previous summer, he had fallen far in the eyes of society when he married a Muggleborn; having a squib for a daughter would have been a political nightmare and could have caused the Potters to be formally censured, perhaps even lose their status as a Noble House. But with one child being the Boy-Who-Lived and the other a dragon slayer…

Too bad she would rather burn herself to ash than bear the name Potter again. "I take great pride in being a Black and have no reason to change that. _They_ are my family, not you; you lost any chance of calling yourself my father when you threw me away to some magic-hating Muggles. Now, if you don't mind, please remove yourself from this area."

Potter bristled, his face flushing and his heart beating so fast she could feel the change in his pulse. "I'll take this to the courts if I need to. It's for your own good, even if you can't see it at the moment. You'll be back with your real family soon, Jenny, I swear it."

"Do. _Not_. Call me that," she snarled. She was being careful with her words due to their audience, but she would not stand for being addressed by that name. The little girl who had used it was a weak, broken thing, unable to fight off even a bunch of drugged-up Muggles. "The only person who could get away with calling me _'Jenny'_ is _dead_. I am Jen to my friends and family, and Scion Black to _you_.

"You think you can force the Ministry to give me to you? With what, I ask. Do you have documents validating your claim?" He looked away at her question. Sirius was present for her birth and had told her about it the previous summer. The Potters had been too afraid of the Dark Lord Voldemort to travel to St. Mungo's, instead calling in a midwife who was also a friend of the family. When Cissy looked through the Ministry's Hall of Records for a birth certificate, she couldn't find one; Daniel Potter's was there, but it had been submitted and backdated in November of 1981. The Potters, in their attempt to hide the truth, had created a situation where she did not legally exist until Sirius filed the paperwork recognizing her as a member of House Black. Between that and the procedure her aunts had put her through, there was a greater likelihood for her to have a unicorn as a pet than for the courts to hand her over. "You don't have a snowball's chance in hell of gaining custody over me. But please, take your best shot; I'll find it incredibly amusing."

Sirius grinned wickedly. "Do you remember that moment, James, when we saw each other on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters? Do your remember what I said? We have no sympathy or comfort to offer you. You made your bed, now lie in it. Go to your wife and son, but leave my heiress _alone_."

"Yes, please leave. You have disturbed my patient more than enough." Pomfrey, the third presence in the adjacent cubicle, came over and pointed at the tent entrance. Potter made to argue, but elected to abandon that course of action at the severe expression on her face.

Once the man was gone, the nurse turned to Jen. "I'm sorry, dearie. James and Sirius were such good friends in their school years that I didn't think to stop him from coming over. If I had realized…"

"It's not a problem, Madam," Jen responded gently. "There was no way you could have known about the bad blood between us."

"That doesn't change the fact I'm responsible for my patients' well-being." Pomfrey sighed before straightening. "Anyway, you're in perfect health and ready to leave. The judges have said they're ready to give out the scores, so just head back towards the stands."

She nodded and, after promising her family to spend some more time with them afterwards, exited the tent. Cedric, Leroux, and Delacour were right after her, with Krum following a few moments later. Though the walk was short, an awkward silence lay over them. None of them could think of anything cheery to say, and somehow, _'Hey, I'm glad you're still alive!'_ didn't seem appropriate.

The quintet was greeted with loud cheers as they entered the stadium once more, and they waved to their fans for several moments. The noise had to stop eventually, though, and Dumbledore rose from his seat at the far end of the arena. "Well, this has certainly been an exciting morning! Let me first congratulate all of you on a job well done!" He paused, waiting out the renewed applause.

"In first place is Cedric Diggory, who did a spectacular job distracting the Short-Snout by transfiguring rocks into cattle and goats. He receives forty-eight points out of fifty." The crowd erupted again, though the Hufflepuffs were loudest. Then again, why should they not be?

"There was a tie for second place, with each gaining forty-four points. Viktor Krum used the Conjuctivitis Curse to great effect, but his injury cost him. Philippe Leroux demonstrated unconventional thinking with the summoning charm and left unharmed; however, the judges agree that he would have benefitted by adhering to the spirit of the Task more closely."

Jen slapped her hand over her face; at the other end of the line, Krum did the same thing. _Why didn't I try something that simple?_ Leroux chuckled at their antics, causing her to pinch his arse hard with her magic. His squeal and jump raised her spirits slightly.

"Fourth place is also tied. Though the rules did expressly not forbid Jennifer Black from killing her dragon, we feel such a restriction was easily inferred. Death should never be one's first recourse." There was a great deal of booing from the stands, though the intended recipient was unclear. She figured it was the Headmaster; if slaying a dragon was as awe-worthy as Cissy had stated, her being penalized for it would certainly irritate the Purebloods in attendance. "Still, she gains forty points, as does Daniel Potter, whose foolhardiness and injuries marred an otherwise incredible performance."

_That's interesting. _The scoring wasn't difficult to figure out: five judges, fifty points total, ten points each. The foreign heads and Bagman had radiated pique at Dumbledore's words; she figured those three gave her nines or even tens for her strategy, results, and lack of injuries. Crouch's indifference could indicate a middle to high score, though probably the latter for seven or eight. That left Dumbledore with anywhere between two and six, just enough to put her even with his precious golden boy. Nodding slightly, she pondered the reason for such a low score. _Maybe his distaste of killing is due to him being so old. With practically his entire life gone already, does the inevitability of Death's approach terrify him? A foolish, if natural, fear, but it doesn't mean he has to take it out on me._

"Fleur Delacour is at sixth place with thirty-five points. Though the only damage suffered was a burnt outfit and a twisted ankle, _some_ of the judges," here Dumbledore turned pointedly to Crouch and Bagman, "felt that was excessive considering the much-diminished danger posed by a sleeping dragon." Delacour stiffened, not that Jen could blame the older girl. The real reason was certainly that she was a Veela, but since their species was not recognized as having equal rights as humans in Britain, there was nothing she could do about it.

"Unfortunately, Ingrid Eberhardt failed to retrieve her egg, and is therefore in last place with no points."

Dumbledore sat while Bagman stood and moved into the space the old man had vacated. "Let's have another round of applause for our magnificent champions, eh?" Claps, screams, and their names echoed around them for a few moments. "I will now give out the information for the next two Tasks. First is our Slytherin Task, and it will consist of… a wandless duel!"

Jen honestly feared the top of her head would fall off due to the width of her grin. At least she managed to keep her maniacal laughter inside. _Should I at least give the others a __**little**__ chance? Oh, who am I kidding; come to mama__**.**_

"You _will_ be allowed other means of casting magic, of course. So long as it isn't a wand, you're free to use whatever you can think of. Thankfully, you'll have plenty of time to research your options; the Task is scheduled for the twenty-first of January.

"The Ravenclaw Task is third and takes place almost two months later, on March eleventh. Everything you need to prepare for it is inside the egg you retrieved this morning."

She thought back on the egg's smooth surface; she had felt no hinges or clasps. _While we may have to 'crack' it to get to the information, I somehow doubt that the judges want us to do that considering the Task is meant to test our intelligence and research abilities. Still, I'll reconsider that alternative should I start running low on time._

"That's all I have to say. Thank you all for showing your support for the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament! Students, I believe it is now time for lunch, so try not to trample the shorter of your fellows on your way in." A sizable proportion of the crowd laughed at that, likely parents of said teenagers.

Jen turned away from the arena and made her way back to the tent, where the Blacks were waiting with a smirking Flitwick. She hadn't shared a meal with her family since coming to Hogwarts, and honestly…

She missed that.

* * *

Shortly after midnight, the door to the hospital wing opened, only to close a moment later. With a brief quiver in the air, Jen faded into view. Moving quietly so as to not disturb the other occupants in the room, most of whom had supposedly experienced a bad reaction to one of the Weasley's pranks, she made her way to Eberhardt's bedside.

_Poor girl._ Indeed, her form was rather pitiful: the bed's sheets were tucked tightly around her lower half and bandages covered her face. _I wonder how bad it is_. Gently, Jen slipped her mental probes into the somnolent mind.

_Ingrid was getting scared now. She couldn't move her legs no matter how hard she tried, her head hurt, and her English wasn't good enough to follow the fast-paced conversation above her. The last thing she remembered was scrambling away from her dragon for the First Task; what could have possibly happened?_

"_Enough! She's awake." The familiar voice of Doktor Gregor Schlemm, Durmstrang's resident Healer, cut off the rest. He moved into view and sat beside her. In German, he asked, "How are you feeling?"_

"_What's wrong with me? Why can't I move?"_

_He sighed and patted her hand softly. "I'm afraid I have bad news, Mädchen. The dragon tore your back open. Normally we would simply put you together again, but…"_

"_But?" she squeaked._

"_When you were injured, the claws severed your spinal cord. Nerves channel magic from your core and are therefore incredibly difficult to heal; repairing the cord itself is impossible. I'm sorry."_

_No. No no no no no. "I'm… I'm paralyzed?" How was she going to move around her house, go to class, hold down a job, if she couldn't walk? Her family was barely middle-class; the prize money was why she entered the Tournament to begin with, to help them! Though her parents would try their best, there was no way they could support an invalid. What was she going to do?_

_He sighed again. "It's worse than that." Worse? How could this get any worse?! "Because you can't keep up with the other champions for the next Task, the Goblet will consider you to be withdrawing from the Tournament; it made such a decision before. When that happens… it will penalize you by stripping away your magic."_

_She could only stare in shock and fear. Being a squib was a fate worse than death, but to be a cripple on top of it!_

"_I've called your parents; they'll arrive tomorrow. I wish there was something we could do to help you." A tear running down his face, the Healer rose and shooed the others out of the room, giving her solitude in which to grieve._

"Well, that makes things interesting." What to do? She could leave now and remove a competitor, making the rest of the Tournament that much easier. No one would ever know she was there, and it wasn't like she could be blamed. As Schlemm had said, it was impossible to repair the girl's spine.

On the other hand, she wasn't _completely_ heartless. However well she had adapted to her blindness, being disabled was difficult. Eberhardt's family was magical; the girl wouldn't be able to retreat to the Muggle world like she could. Instead, she would be stuck as a second-class citizen, earning pity, then scorn, and eventually hate from her family as their lives grew harder. Saving her from that future would take little effort.

And it wasn't like Jen would get nothing in return.

She levitated the German before turning her over, the sheet and thin gown falling to the bed. "You're incredibly lucky, you know," she murmured, laying a hand on the topmost of the jagged rips marring her patient's back. "I'm probably the only person in the world who can do this."

Due to nerves' ability to channel magic, spells to heal them simply slipped off, effectively making them magically resistant. The key to working with them was therefore to flood them with so much magic that they couldn't get rid of it all; the energy would instead be absorbed, allowing it to produce the desired effect. This brute force method was highly inefficient, capable of sending an average individual into magical exhaustion should they attempt to repair a tiny fiber. If, however, there was someone who had an infinite amount of magic…

Jen kicked off her trainers, shuddering a bit as bare feet met the cold stone floor. While she had healed herself numerous times, doing so to another person required far more strength and control. She widened her connection to the planet as much as was safe, feeling her own nerves sing in arousal and pain. Sinking her power into Eberhardt's flesh, she felt around much like she did with her sonar. Upon finding the tear, she grabbed the nearer of the girl's wrists with the hand not channeling magic; by 'pushing' with one hand and 'pulling' with the other, she made a circuit of healing energy, magic arcing over the gap caused by the injury.

Slowly, the frayed nerves stretched towards their other halves, touching and immediately sealing due to the power flowing through them. The speed increased as the damage was erased. Finally, she pulled away. Quickly restoring the nerves in her own body that she had overloaded, she slid her left hand down Eberhardt's back. "One down, two to go."

The other spinal tears posed no complications, and Jen rose from her bent position. She pulled her watch out of her pocket and felt the hands; to her surprise, half an hour had elapsed since she entered the room. "That took longer than I expected. I'll have to keep that in mind if I ever decide to do something like this again." Just for fun, and to enjoy the power thrumming through her body a little longer, she let her magic spread over Eberhardt's body. The lacerations sizzled as they closed, scar tissue that had started to form dissolving, and the bandages on the older girl's face fell off as smooth skin replaced the tender burns. Once all the wounds she could feel were gone, Jen called her power back and narrowed her link to the global reserves. It was unfortunate that she could only heal new injuries; if not, she would have fixed her eyes as soon as her magic was unchained.

Sliding the sheet over Eberhardt's nudity, she left a mark on the girl. "Just so there won't be any misunderstandings in the near future, sweetie. Until your school goes back to the Continent, you belong to me."

Jen put her footwear back on and made herself invisible once more. Her method was far superior to the disillusionment charm Moody had demonstrated in class; rather than making her flesh transparent, which according to the ex-Auror created a tell-tale distortion, she bent the light coming in her direction so that it went around her. Without refraction, it was physically impossible for anyone to see her. There was only one downside: Elsie had pointed out that anyone she made invisible with her would be blinded due to the lack of light entering their eyes. She too would have to deal with that once her vision was restored, but after relying on her sonar as her primary sense for nearly eight years, it was likely her sight would be relegated to the same status as her hearing and smell; important, but not crucial.

"Pleasant dreams, dear little Ingrid. I wish I could be here when the Healers find that the impossible has happened right under their noses."

* * *

If Tracey had to describe Jen in one word, it would be _'contradictory'_. She had a hard time understanding her best friend: Jen was blind, yet she moved around the school better than any student other than the Weasley Twins. She was a half-blood but the heiress of the über-Pureblood Blacks and most comfortable around Narcissa Malfoy of all people. She was too Slytherin to be Sorted into the Snake Pit and yesterday faced down a nesting dragon with nary a flinch. _And now the other champions are running around like pixies with a kneazle at their heels, but is she in the library? No, she's teaching ickle firsties how to play poker!_

"Jen, can we talk for a minute? In the hallway?"

"Sure. I should fold this hand, anyway." Tossing her cards onto the discard pile, she stood and joined Tracey outside the room they had commandeered. Ravenclaws and Slytherins generally got along well, so it wasn't too difficult for Jen to find a room where the first years of the two Houses could get to know each other. _It isn't hard for __**her**__, certainly. If practically anyone else had tried to do this, they would have nothing to show for their efforts._ "What did you want to talk about?"

Tracey frowned. Did the other girl honestly not realize what she was in for? Bluntness was the best way to hammer her point across. "Have you started researching alternate foci yet?"

"Nope."

She wanted to scream at Jen's glib tone. Instead, she managed to grind out, "And why not?"

Jen cocked her head, her nonverbal signal of confusion. "Because it's not going to be a problem? I don't understand your distress. The Task isn't for nearly two months; I have plenty of time to sort everything out."

"Oh, there you are." Tracey sighed as Lovegood wandered up. While she didn't begrudge the two their friendship, she personally preferred to stay as far away from the blonde as was polite. That Lovegood had been hanging onto Jen like a limpet the previous afternoon and would undoubtedly do so after every Task made it that much more difficult. "I've been looking for you."

"Why?" she asked.

"The Foghuffers said Jen would show me something interesting today."

_Of course they did_. Once again she toyed with the idea that Lovegood was a Seer; they were known to be a little 'odd', too. It was that, or she was running around with an over-possessive psycho. Not a good combination.

Jen hummed as she thought and nodded after a minute or so. "Something interesting? I suppose I could." The older Raven entered the room next to the first years', Tracey and Lovegood following. "Tracey, could you explain why you are so worried about the next Task?"

"It isn't hard to understand. We use wands because they make magic a whole lot easier to cast. There are other ways to cast magic, but they're either big and unwieldy, too weak to be useful, or so specialized that they can only do a single thing. Would the entire civilized world use wands if they weren't the best focus we can make?" She frowned slightly as she realized she was practically repeating the lecture her mother gave her when she asked that question years ago.

"This Task is based on the traits of Slytherin House, most likely cunning. I think that means you have to find out about a number of options, choose the one you can build the best strategy around, practice using it, _and_ spend some of your time observing the other champions so you can plan countermeasures. While it wouldn't hurt to wait for the others to pick their tools, it also leaves you with less time to find your own. If nothing else, you need to see what you can easily get ahold of."

Jen nodded. "I understand where you're coming from. Do you have anything to add, Luna?"

"Only that wielding a different focus will take some getting used to. The sooner you start practicing with whatever you're going to use, the easier it'll be to cast with in January, and the better you'll do."

"You both have good points." Tracey glared at the girl, annoyed with her tone. She probably wasn't trying to be condescending, but it certainly came across that way. "Now for that show you were promised. This is why you why you needn't be so concerned."

Drawing her wand, Jen held it in front of them, one hand at each end of the wood. "What is this?"

"Your wand?" the Slytherin asked, unsure where this was going.

Jen smirked and, with a sharp twist of her wrists, _snapped her wand_ right in front of them! Tracey couldn't hold in her gasp, nor could Lovegood. Only criminals under life sentences and people exiled from the Wizarding World had their wands snapped; didn't Jen understand the meaning of what she had just done? Not only that, there was no way to fix a broken wand. She was defenseless until she could get a replacement!

The girl tossed a piece to each of them. "I ask again, what is this? Look closer." Tracey did and was immediately confused. While it looked like a wand on the outside, there was no inner chamber where the wand core should be, just more wood. Why was Jen carrying a blank wand around?

While she was pondering, Lovegood answered the question. "It's a practice wand, often used by children in their pre-Hogwarts education so they can become familiar with the various wand movements."

"Correct, Ms. Lovegood. Ten points to Ravenclaw." Still grinning, Jen crooked a finger. Much to her friends' shock, the pieces of wood flew to hover in front of her. With a pinching gesture, they connected and fused; there was no way to tell that they had ever been separate. The now-repaired blank began orbiting her, soon joined by a few chairs and a nearby desk. Jen just stood there, hands in her pockets and a smirk on her face. "You see, I don't use a wand for _any_ of the magic I cast. It's all freeform, controlled entirely by my will.

"I will certainly be Slytherin for this Task, but not in the way the judges expect. Instead of careful planning, I will use subterfuge and twist the rules to my advantage. While the other champions are limited to whatever they can research and train with for the next seven weeks, I have my full repertoire _literally_ at my fingertips."

Tracey stared in awe and a small degree of fear. _Only the strongest witches and wizards ever develop true wandless magic, and even then it's limited to minor charms like glamours and summoning. If she's really using wandless magic for __**everything**__, including curses and transfiguration… Merlin and Morgana, just how powerful is she?_

_On the bright side, at least I don't have to worry anymore about how well she'll do against her competitors. They won't know what hit them._

* * *

Ingrid sighed as she slipped into her room on the ship, at long last away from the Healers who had hounded her since she woke the morning after the First Task. Overnight, all the injuries she had received mysteriously disappeared, including the crippling damage to her back. Doktor Schlemm, who had told her she would never walk again, practically fainted from shock when she did just that, and the English Healers were equally astounded.

_Then_ they transferred her to a hospital, which annoyed her immensely; she didn't care _how_ she had healed from that, only that she did! She had spent two days there being subjected to every test the sadistic staff could think of before they finally threw up their hands and let her go, but even then she _knew_ there was someone in a green robe watching her every move. Never had she considered that miracles might bring more problems with them than they solved.

Throwing her cloak onto the bed, her attention was caught by an envelope sitting on her desk. She picked it up and examined it; the back was held closed with a blob of wax, but there was no impression in it. Who used wax without applying their seal? She tore open the envelope and unfolded the sheet of parchment inside.

_Fraulein Eberhardt,_

_If you are reading this, you have finally been released from the Healers' tender mercies, your legs functional again. You are welcome._

_My assistance, however, is not free. I have done you a great favor, and it is only appropriate that you repay me. In the future, I will give you tasks; maybe one, maybe many. You will complete them, regardless of what they are, and you will do so with a smiling face and an unmoving tongue. Should you think to refuse, remember this: if I can give you back your ability to walk, I can certainly take it away once more._

_I look forward to watching you compete in the rest of the Triwizard Tournament. Do not make me regret giving you this opportunity._

Ingrid snickered to herself; how like a stereotypical villain could someone get? Her eyes dropped to the signature, and her laughter stopped. There was no name, only a single bird track. Shaking, she raised her right wrist next to the parchment and stared at the shiny burn of the exact same shape that had appeared when her injuries vanished. Suddenly, this letter was anything but a joke.

* * *

**I don't get to play around with Jen's full potential nearly enough. There's **_**so much**_** she can do, yet she has no need for it most of the time. Also, writing evil-sounding notes that aren't incredibly corny is harder than you'd think.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	21. All Roads Lead to Hell

**GeekySoundCat:** Jen's actions would be OOC, except she revealed that particular secret to Tracey and Luna, the two people without the name Black she trusts most. Those two girls didn't have much in the way of friendships before Jen came along (for various reasons), and so they won't screw their best friend over.

**jadesabrexiv:** I don't think it's a spoiler at this point to say Jen's going to win the next Task : ) I have not read _Temporal Beacon_, though it's funny that that author and I both came up with a wandless duel as a Task. Yes, Fleur will pull out her Veela talents to snub the judges; now quit figuring out what the champions' strategies are! That's an interesting idea about the beater bats, which could very well be right considering your evidence. However, since Jen has already said she doesn't care about quidditch, that plan would be very unlikely to cross her mind. Burning out the Elder Wand would _not_ be a good thing, for reasons I have yet to reveal.

**wordhammer:** While Jen _is_ arrogant, being able to do the "impossible" would prompt a lot of questions that she can't safely answer. The smart thing would have been to leave once she had satisfied her curiosity, but I don't want to portray her as completely heartless. Ingrid is straight; I'm trying to stay away from the trap of putting every character and their neighbor in a homosexual relationship.

**Word of the Chapter: backfire — to fail to have the desired or expected effect.**

**Disclaimer:** Did any of the Hogwarts professors ever check how Harry was dealing with the epic tragedy that was his life? If not, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.

* * *

**Chapter 21  
****All Roads Lead to Hell**

The next Thursday, Pomona Sprout clapped her hands together, pulling her students from the Evanescent Poppy seedlings they were trying — and failing — to repot. The plants had a maddening tendency to temporarily phase out of tangibility at the exact moment one interacted with them physically or magically, and even moving the surface they were on caused them to fall through it to the ground better than half the time. Beyond straining the adolescents' patience, much to her amusement, this behavior also explained why two of the three apothecaries in Knockturn Alley sold Muggle opium instead of the magical variety.

A pity that so many students were quick to dismiss the wonder of her class.

"Now that I have your attention, I have a wonderful announcement to make. In just two and a half weeks is the Yule Ball," she paused so the inevitable whispers could run their course, "a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament. This event is open to all students in the fourth year or above, but younger years may attend if invited. The ball will start with dinner at eight o'clock on Christmas day and will run to midnight. Dress robes _must_ be appropriate; I do not want to see anyone embarrassing our school by wearing indecent attire. Does anyone have any questions? Yes, Ms. Bulstrode."

"What about those of us who want to go but already made other plans?" the bulky girl asked, gaining nods of agreement from several other students. "We will be a week into our winter break by then."

The professor smiled at the poorly concealed motive. "Don't worry, we are not keeping you from any Solstice traditions your families may have. Madam Rosmerta has offered use of the Three Broomsticks's fireplace for students traveling to and from, and the Express will be running on the twenty-fourth and twenty-seventh for those who don't have access to a Floo."

Murmurs of approval rippled through the mixed Ravenclaws and Slytherins. Those two houses held all the Dark and a healthy chunk of the old Neutral families, groups which were far more likely to follow druidic practices than those that made up Hufflepuff or Gryffindor. She personally had no problems with that, though she knew Minerva and Albus felt differently.

"Anyone else? No? All right, then. Homework is a twelve-inch essay on the proper care and handling of today's plant, due next week. Dismissed." The children noisily gathered their things, forcing her to loudly add, "Ms. Black, if you could stay behind for a moment?"

A minute later, the two were alone. "Yes, Professor?"

"I have two things I wanted to discuss with you. First, it is customary for the champions and their partners to open the ball. I don't know what your plans were…"

"This year is the first time the entire family could be together for Christmas," the girl said softly. "But with the Floo, it wouldn't be too much of a hassle to come back on the twenty-fifth and leave the next morning. The first dance isn't going to be something complicated like the tango, is it?"

Pomona chuckled at the faint worry in Ms. Black's voice. "No, no, just a basic waltz. The first hour will be traditional dances, then we'll let you students party away until the end. You are only required to be part of the opening if dancing isn't something you enjoy." Privately, she hoped it was; it always distressed her how closed off the Ravens were.

"I don't know; the only exposure I've had to it was my aunts teaching me this summer. I'll give it a try, though. You said there were two things?"

"Yes." She flashed a small, warm smile, one meant to ease the transition into her next topic. "I was wondering how you were doing."

"Professor?"

"You seemed quieter today. Normally you're much more lively, even if this isn't your favorite class." She shook her head as Ms. Black opened her mouth to deny that. "I don't mind, my dear; I understand that just because I love Herbology doesn't mean everyone else does. Is something the matter?"

"No, I… it's…" The girl sighed. "Honestly, I think I'm just homesick. After three years of private tutors, Hogwarts is a very different experience. It's fun, don't get me wrong, but with seeing my family last weekend after the First Task…"

She nodded sympathetically. "I understand how you feel. My family couldn't afford to send me here until my third year, and I think I cried every night for a month straight from missing them. Not to say money was the issue you had, of course."

"Of course," the brunette replied, a sad smile on her lips. "It was safer, for many reasons, that I didn't attend while Sirius was still in Azkaban or a fugitive. While I do enjoy being here, it doesn't change me missing him and my aunts. It will be good to spend more than a few hours with them."

"I'm sure it will. Well, unless you want to be late for your next class, I suggest you hurry on out. Have a good day, Ms. Black," Pomona said, doing all she could not to crow in triumph for cracking the girl's shell a tiny bit. She knew she didn't _have_ to, but she considered it a personal duty to make herself available for all students, not just her Badgers.

* * *

Jen sighed, happy to be out of the greenhouses. She had heard about Sprout's tendency to treat the entire school like Hufflepuffs, but this was the first time she had had a front-row seat. Still, she couldn't find it in herself to be too upset; annoying though it might be, she knew the Professor was doing it with the best of intentions.

Even if that was what paved the road to hell.

"Jen!" She turned to Tracey as the Slytherin walked up, followed by a boy she vaguely remembered being pointed out to her. "I know you two haven't formally met, but I'd like to introduce my housemate Blaise Zabini. Zabini, this is Jen Black."

"A lady who needs no introduction," Zabini said, charm oozing out his velvety voice. "It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance."

_He certainly looks like a dishy specimen with that tanned skin, if I do say so myself. How could Tracey have kept this hunk hidden away like that? That selfish little bitch._

Jen mentally blinked. _Wait a minute…_ Throwing up the barrier she used when around Delacour, she forced herself not to growl as the attraction instantly vanished. _What is it with people trying to turn me into a dog in heat?_

"The pleasure is all mine," she said, her tone only slightly stiff.

"And classy as well. Would it be too much to assume that you are, at the moment, without an escort to the Yule ball?"

She shook her head. "Considering that we found out about it only a few minutes ago?"

"True," he laughed. "Then would you do me the great honor of allowing me to accompany you?"

The only thing that stopped her from rejecting his offer outright was Tracey's frantically nodding head. Snarling internally, she instead purred, "I suppose I could decorate your arm for one night. Should you be properly attentive, I might not even badmouth you too badly afterwards." She slipped just inside his mind and called up a good measure of lust and embarrassment. _So you want to play at seducing __**me**__? Brat, you have __**no**__ idea who you're dealing with._

He shuddered slightly before pulling himself back together. "I thank you for your graciousness. Might I know the colors of your dress? It would not do for us to clash."

"Not at all," she rejoined, tweaking his emotions further. "Midnight blue with silver accents. I take it that will not offend your Slytherin pride and style."

"It will not," he said, a faint blush heating his cheeks. With a muttered, "Good day," he sped to the castle as fast as could be considered appropriate.

Tracey snickered. "Wow, that's the most awkward I've ever — Hey!"

Snapping her fingers to cast an avoidance charm around them, she pulled her — now debatably — best friend to the side of the greenhouse. "Mind explaining why you were so insistent on setting me up with the little _kochma_?"

"First, I don't understand what you just said, but I bet it was something nasty," Tracey stated calmly. "Second, I was helping you. Lady Zabini, his mother, is one of the rising movers-and-shakers of the Neutral Families, and he's her eldest child and only son. If you can establish a cordial relationship with him _now_ —"

"Then I won't be kicking myself should I need something later when we're Lord Zabini and Lady Black. What businesses are his family involved in that makes them so valuable?" she asked with a sigh.

"No one knows."

Jen cocked her head. "You're joking, right?"

"I wish I was. If you believe the rumors, most of his mother's political power comes from the blackmail she spends her time gathering. Between that, her charisma, and her fortune, she can sway a lot of the minor Neutrals when she wants to."

"Has she ever wanted to?"

Tracey leaned against the wall. "According to my uncle, yes. Mostly it's about creature/being laws, but she's thrown her support to some other bills that were proposed by people who sided with her. Normal give-and-take, that sort of thing."

"I wonder," she murmured, her suspicions strengthening. "You said she has a fortune. How did she get it if she has no footholds in industry? Surely it can't be solely old money."

"Ah, er… There's the rub. She has a bit of a reputation as a black widow. She's married five or six wealthy wizards since she immigrated here about a decade ago, and all of them died under suspicious circumstances. The DMLE was never able to find any evidence that she killed them, but that only leant more credence to the blackmail rumors."

Jen's worry strengthened. "Tracey, did all those men happen to die of sudden multiple organ failure? Almost like their insides had aged decades in the span of days?"

"Er, yeah," the other girl responded, her voice full of confusion. "How did you know?"

"I know because that's the hallmark of a _lethal succubus feeding_. A succubus whose _son_ you arranged to escort me to the Yule ball. A son who, based on his age, I believe is just now coming into his hunger and powers and will therefore have little to no control over them." She took a deep breath and let it out in a rush to calm down; the greenhouses were a terrible place to commit grisly murder._ Sometimes I hate being right_.

Tracey's mouth dropped open. "A succubus? Here? They were chased out of the country over two centuries ago!"

"Chased out to _where_, though? Italy, perhaps, the only Ministry in Europe that's stupid enough to give them a protected minority status? The name _Zabini_ should have been your first clue."

"Are you sure?" asked the girl with a shiver. "I mean, not that I don't trust you, but that's a pretty serious accusation to be throwing around without proof."

Jen ground her teeth. "Proof like him bypassing my mental shields and slipping thoughts into my head? Thoughts that stopped when I raised a barrier that repels Veela Allure? Thoughts that were about how attractive he looked even though _I can't bloody see_?!"

"Okay, okay, let's say he _is_ a new incubus like you're saying. How much danger are we in?"

"The question isn't _will_ someone die, but _when_ and _how many_."

"Oh, Merlin," the Slytherin gasped. Her doubts gone, or at least overpowered by her self-preservation instincts, she asked, "What are we going to do?"

"_You_ aren't going to do a thing. _I_ will have a chat with him at the ball about his dining habits, specifically _where_ he will be taking said meals," she stated firmly. Elsie had taught her a great deal about succubi and incubi, which were plentiful in Haiti. In fact, Voodoo witches and wizards were some of the only ones who knew spells that could grievously or even mortally wound them without putting any spectators in danger. "Keep this to yourself until then. Do you normally interact with him in your dorms?"

Tracey shook her head rapidly.

"Good. Stay as far away from him as you can. The last thing I want is for you to get turned into a bargaining chip should this all go south."

* * *

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

Finch-Fletchley glanced over at Tracey. "You've seen how Jen's been acting lately. _Something_ caused her to be upset and angry, and what kind of friends would we be if we didn't try to get to the bottom of it?"

"The anger is mostly my fault. I made a decision without some important information, and now she has to deal with the consequences," she muttered with a grimace. The others looked at her in curiosity, but she turned her head away. "That's all I'll say about it."

"That still doesn't explain why she's depressed," commented Bones.

Patil and Finch-Fletchley nodded, joined shortly by Kenneth. Morag, the only one in the room Tracey had known before Hogwarts, gnawed a fingernail for a moment. "Maybe we should wait for her to tell us herself. I mean, it could be that something happened recently and she just hasn't come to terms with it all yet."

"She's been like this for four days. If it's big enough that she's still processing, it's big enough that she doesn't need to deal with it alone." Patil sighed and turned back to the door. "Besides, she may not _want_ our help, but we should still offer it to her."

The lone Slytherin fidgeted as she leaned against a wall. Considering how private Jen was, this had the potential to blow up in their faces big time. _And I really don't want her mad at me again so soon_. Before she could start pacing, she heard Lovegood's voice.

"…and maybe we'll even find pickled ringrats!" The dazed-looking blonde opened the door and practically shoved the raven-haired girl inside. "Or possibly just some concerned friends."

Jen was still for a moment before turning to the younger Claw. "How much of that spiel did you make up to distract me?"

"Well, I've never heard of someone turning ringrats into pickles," Lovegood hedged, "and encountering moonswallows _was_ a possibility, just a very, very tiny one."

"Of course, you and your word games." Jen faced the rest of them. "Anyone willing to explain why you brought me here?"

Bones cleared her throat. "Er, we're all worried about you. I mean, um, you've been quiet and… and…"

"Withdrawn," Patil suggested.

"Yeah. Is… is there something we can do to help?"

Jen muttered something under her breath. Louder, she said, "Thank you, all of you, for your concern. However, this is something I need to deal with on my own. I've been withdrawn, as you put it, because I wanted the solitude. Allow me a few days in peace, please."

She walked to the door, only for Lovegood to move in the way. "Please, Jen. We just want you to feel better."

"And you'll do that best by stepping away from the door."

"Are a few more days really going to solve it?" Finch-Fletchley asked. "We've all watched you, and you're just getting sadder and sadder. Maybe it's time you let us in to help."

"No."

Kenneth spoke next. "Look, we understand that it's painful and probably personal, but talking about it will make you feel better."

"I said _no_. Luna, move."

"You don't have to do this alone," Morag added timidly. She, like Tracey, apparently realized this wouldn't end well; she just wasn't smart enough to keep her mouth shut.

The subject of their entreaties whirled around and screamed, "Dammit, what part of _NO_ don't you understand?! I don't want to talk about it; not to you, or you, or you!"

"You're angry, we get that, but there's nothing you can say that will make us go away."

"Nothing I can say?" Jen repeated to Patil's statement. "You want to know what's wrong? You want me to pour out my sorrows so you can wipe them away like a child's tears? You have _no clue_ what you want!" She turned to Tracey. "Are you going to throw in your bloody opinion, too?"

The girl raised her hands. "I tried to tell them this was a bad idea. I'm just here to help you get rid of the bodies."

"Smart girl. Why don't the rest of you follow her lead and bugger off."

"Because we're your friends," Finch-Fletchley said proudly, "and friends don't abandon friends when they're hurting."

"I don't need or want your 'help'."

Kenneth cleared his throat. "You may not want it, but you clearly need it. Consider this an intervention."

Rattling pulled Tracey's attention away from the argument. Her eyes widened; the door, the wall sconces, and the window frame were shaking like the school was in the middle of an earthquake. She whimpered as she remembered the power Jen wielded and worried that there might truly be bodies lying around by the end of this.

As suddenly as the noise had started, it stopped. A sick smile slid onto Jen's features, and when she spoke, her voice was far too sweet. "An intervention? Well then, since you all are _so_ adamant, I'll tell you a story. This is what you want, yes?" The brunette faced all of them individually, and everyone, even Tracey, nodded slowly.

"Once upon a time, there was a baby girl who was born in a time of war. The girl's mother, concerned for her daughter's safety because she was a soldier, took the baby girl and put her in the hands of a couple who were not involved. _'Take care of her'_, she said, and went back to the battlefield. The war ended a little over a year later, but the mother did not return.

"Years passed, and the couple had a son, the apple of their eye. _'Why should we continue to care for this girl?'_ the father asked his wife one day. _'We have our own boy, a child we wanted rather than one forced upon us.'_ The mother agreed, and so the father took the little girl to a big city. _'Begone, brat!'_ he yelled, throwing her out of the carriage. _'You have been a curse on my family since you came into our lives, and I will not stand for it any longer!'_ With that, the father urged the horses back to his house and left the girl standing there, alone and afraid in the winter snow.

"A few nights after she was abandoned, the little girl was searching for a place to stay warm and sleep when four trolls entered the alley. Not looking, one stumbled and fell to the ground. _'Who did that?!'_ he yelled before he saw her. '_You tripped me on purpose, you little chit!'_ His companions grew angry as well at the slight, and the girl, scared of the giant beasts approaching her, turned tail and ran. She ran, and ran, and _ran_, but finally she could run no longer. She collapsed on the ground, thinking she was safe, that the trolls must have lost interest by now.

"But it was not to be, and a minute later the monsters approached her, even angrier for the chase she had led them on. _'She needs to be punished,'_ said the first troll. _'Let's carve her open,'_ suggested the second. _'Let's throw her off a bridge,'_ added the third. _'Let's roast her and eat her,'_ said the last.

"The first troll, who was the leader of the four, cut them off. _'All good ideas, my brothers, but I have a better one. Let us use her, for I have not been with a woman in months. Let's teach her how to respect her betters.'"_

Tracey paled as she heard those words; looking around, she saw that the others had similar expressions of horror. Turning back to Jen, who had walked to the window during the tale, she gulped. She hoped, she prayed, that her suspicions were wrong.

Jen took a deep breath and continued, her voice now flat. "So the trolls threw her against the wall and ripped away her tattered garb. Heedless of the little girl's screams, they forced themselves inside her; when they were each finished, they snapped her arms and left her in the snow, laughing as they walked away. And for the first time in her short life, the little girl whole-heartedly wished for death."

Lovegood cried out a loud sob before rushing to the brunette's side, wrapping her in a tight embrace. Tracey was right behind her, and that was the signal for the others to mob their pained friend.

"Thank…" Jen sniffed, pulling a hand out of the blonde's grasp to brush tears from her cheeks. "Thankfully, the trolls' actions had not gone unnoticed. An old woman, a witch, came to investigate the commotion. She carried the little girl's broken body to her house for healing, and after discovering that the girl had a talent for her arts, she taught the child what magic she knew. The little girl grew into a young woman, and shortly after the old witch died, a rich lord came to the house. '_I am your cousin,'_ he said, _'and I have searched for you long and hard since the king released me from his dungeon. Come with me; let me bring you back to your family where you belong.'_ The young woman took his hand, at last hopeful that even she could have a happily ever after."

Her 'fairy tale' ended, Jen broke down in their arms.

As her best friend cried against her shoulder, Tracey reflected on what they had heard. Of all of them, she was the only one who knew that the first part was a lie, even if the rest rang of terrible truth; Jen had been born to the Potters, not a single woman. The Black heiress hated that fact, though, so it wasn't too surprising that she would twist the story to hide her real parentage. Tracey was curious about who the 'couple' and 'trolls' were, but she was too ashamed to voice the question. As she had tried to tell the others, Jen would share her secrets in her own time, and they just had to deal with it. _Especially if all of them are this bad. We crossed a line today; there is __**no**__ excuse for making her relive that. I just hope she can find it in herself to give us another chance,_ she thought, tightening her grip.

Several minutes later, Jen shuddered and pulled herself out of the circle. Her voice was soft as she explained, "I have not told you this because I want your pity or to be treated like a china doll. Instead, I need you to understand that I bear secrets; some are minor, some are painful, some have been entrusted to me, and some I am oathbound to keep. Forcing me to reveal them is not only disrespectful in the extreme, it could also place my magic or even my life in jeopardy. If you are truly my friends, trust me enough to decide on my own whether or not I need help with my problems." She walked back to the door and opened it.

"Jen," Kenneth said, stopping her from leaving. "I'm really sorry for what we did, and I don't mean to hurt you more, but I have to ask… When?"

"Eight years ago tomorrow."

The door's quiet click caused them to wince as if it had been slammed shut. After a moment, Tracey stepped back and looked each of them in the eyes. "We don't breathe a word of this to anyone. Not our parents, not our other friends, not our diaries. It doesn't leave this room."

"I, Luna Lovegood, pledge on my magic never to share any information learned from Jen Black in this room today with anyone. So mote it be." The flash of light ensured everyone was looking at the girl. "Jen would never ask it of us, but she deserves it considering how we treated her." The others nodded silently and followed suit.

* * *

Lily Potter nervously smoothed her robes again as she watched the Hogwarts Express stop. James had told her about his last 'talk' with their daughter, though calling it that was stretching the meaning of the word. 'Fiasco' was probably more accurate.

_All because the idiot can't keep his ego under control_, she thought harshly. Threatening Jenny was _not_ the way to start a relationship with her, especially not after abandoning her for over a decade. _And it __**was**__ abandonment. Our intentions were good when we put her with Petunia, but all we did was give my vile sister a surrogate to take her hate out on._

After Danny had left for school, she had finally gathered her Gryffindor courage and journeyed to Little Whinging. Sirius's words and her own encounter with Jenny had echoed in her skull for over six weeks by then, and though she did not want to believe her sister would be so petty as to mistreat her innocent little girl to get back at her, she had to know for sure. To her shock and disgust, she had not needed the Veritaserum she had brewed for the occasion; Petunia actually took some sadistic pleasure from describing in horrific detail just how much abuse they had heaped on her daughter's shoulders. Giving her unrealistic chores and extreme punishments, praising their son every time he beat her up, locking her in a cupboard, and at the end, dumping her in London like so much trash…

How could Jenny _not_ hate her parents for the nightmare they had sent her to?

_In hindsight, I can't believe we made such an enormous blunder. Danny couldn't have been responsible for __**all**__ the accidental magic when they were younger. It's strange that Professor Dumbledore's spells showed her as a squib, but he __**is**__ getting old; a wavering upstroke with his wand, and who knows what the results would be?_ She sighed. _But it was ultimately our fault. We thought that giving her to Petunia would let her have a normal life, one where she wouldn't be looked down on as a second-class citizen because she couldn't use magic. Maybe it's a good thing I can't have another child…_

Students were now exiting the train, shaking Lily from her reflection. She glanced about the platform and easily spotted her target's head bobbing above the younger children's; even with access to the Express and Floo, few students old enough to attend the Yule ball had decided to return home for break. Molly Weasley had griped to her for almost an hour on how none of her children were coming back, and though she could do without the fellow redhead's endless complaints, she was equally disappointed that Danny didn't want to spend Christmas with his family. He hadn't the last two years, either.

She approached the contingent of Blacks quickly, uncaring if doing so revealed her desperation. "How are you, Sirius?" she asked, a weak smile accompanying her greeting.

He glared at her. "What do you want?"

"I was actually hoping to have a quick word with…" _What do I call her?_ James had passed on their daughter's warning; the last thing Lily wanted to do was cause strife before the conversation actually started. This was also why she was following all the backwards Pureblood rules concerning public conversations even though Jenny was _right there_. Suppressing her distaste for the unfeeling term, she finished "…with your scion."

"No."

The denial came not from Sirius, but Narcissa Malfoy. Andromeda Tonks continued, "One conversation with your husband was _quite_ enough interaction with your family for our tastes."

Lily grimaced but nodded. "That was one of the things I wished to discuss. Just a couple of minutes, please." She gave him a pleading gaze for several seconds, and eventually he caved, just as she knew he would. He had never been able to deny a damsel in distress, at least not unless he was in a towering rage.

"Fine, but no longer than that, and you will do it here with us present."

Flashing him a thankful smile and ignoring the other women's contemptuous faces, she turned to Jenny. She was almost grateful for the girl's strange hairstyle, for it meant that she did not have to look at the blindfold she had seen in Flourish and Blott's that summer, a reminder of how her daughter had suffered due to her stupidity. "It is good to see you again, Ms. Black."

"I am hesitant to say the same, Lady Potter." Though the impersonal address hurt her, just as James had warned, the greeting was considerably warmer than that they had exchanged previously.

_And it took nothing more than giving her some space_. There was a reason the Sorting Hat had debated between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw when she was under it: unlike James, she was capable of learning from past mistakes. If Jenny said that she did not want them to call her by her first name yet, Lily wouldn't; if she preferred her adopted surname, Lily could accept that. After all, they weren't really _repairing_ a relationship with her; she didn't know them. They had to build one from the ground up.

She smiled lightly, then remembered that Jenny couldn't see it. "First, congratulations on how you completed the First Task of the Tournament. Having the skill and power to kill a dragon at your age is incredible." The girl inclined her head at the praise, likely the most Lily would get. Still, that she hadn't rejected it lifted Lily's hopes for some progress being made today. "Second, I want to apologize for my husband's words. While it was not his intention, that does not change the fact that he offended you."

"It is quite easy to offend when one does not take reality into account before speaking."

_Aaaand right back down._ "Indeed, and I will strive to correct that flaw in him. He and I also need to apologize for our… earlier mistakes with you." She paused a moment, and when no explosion seemed imminent, continued, "I know there is no way we can ever make it up —"

"No, you cannot. That ship sailed long ago." Jenny crossed her arms and tilted her head in perfect mimicry of a glare. "Do you have more to say, Lady Potter?"

She shook her head, saddened by her daughter's cold tone and even more that she and James deserved every bit of it. _Baby steps, baby steps._ Realizing that the invitation to Godric's Hollow she had planned to offer would obviously not be taken well, she took a metaphorical and physical step back. "Not at this time. Have a merry Christmas."

Jenny's lips twitched a moment. "And to you." She turned away and started toward the Floo terminals, followed quickly by the remaining three Blacks. Sighing in disappointment but amazed at how well her daughter had adapted to her disability, Lily walked to the Apparation point. _There wasn't any yelling or undeserved insults; that's something, I guess. Maybe next time will be better._

If she had seen the sneer marring the girl's face, she would not have held such hope.

* * *

**Stubborn teenage idiots. Just so there's no confusion, Jen revealed a painful and personal secret to protect the ones that could have her imprisoned or executed. After this, her friends — and she **_**does**_** consider them friends — will be wary of pushing too far, especially since she implied some are protected by Unbreakable Vows. To make a chess analogy, she sacrificed her rook to kill her opponent's queen; costly, but still advantageous.**

**Several chapters ago, I promised conflicts between Jen and Lily; unfortunately, now that an opportunity has arrived, my muse just won't put out. I think part of the problem is that I like Lily, always have.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	22. Dark Solstice

**Faraway-R:** Part of the reason I showed Lily's remorse is that it needed to be said that the Potters are not evil monsters; their good intentions led to a mistake that had horrific consequences. _Very_ few of the characters I write are purely black or white. That's a very good suggestion for the duels, and I just might do that.

**magitech:** Honestly, I'd be on the train back home, too. I see Lily's and Petunia's interactions progressively worsening as the horse became more of a bitch and Lily absorbed more of the "we're better because we have magic" view that Hermione displayed in book 7. Just so you know, though, I doubt the laws about Veritaserum (whatever they may be) would be written to protect Muggles.

**Aealket:** Glad you enjoyed the Ravenclaw Upset. Jen's still very sensitive about what happened to her, so she may have overreacted _just_ a little ; ) The only other subjects I can think of that could have her acting like that again to her friends is them pressuring her to reconcile with the Potters (when they find out) or getting close to discovering that she uses illegal and immoral magics.

**KIRA FIRE WOLF:** Because the Potters never filed a birth certificate for Jen, Sirius didn't have to formally adopt her. Instead, he submitted paperwork recognizing her as a missing member of House Black, which makes it so that legally she has always been part of the family.

**Guess what? We **_**FINALLY**_** get to see Jen use some Voodoo! Also, more Candyland talk.**

**Disclaimer:** Was any importance given in canon to the winter solstice, even though it has been considered culturally significant for most of human history? If not, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.

* * *

**Chapter 22  
****Dark Solstice**

Narcissa pulled her hand back once again as she looked at the door in front of her. Jen had been worryingly quiet over dinner the night before and still hadn't left her room today even though it was nearing noon. To say that she, Andi, and Sirius were anxious would be a severe understatement. _And I was unlucky enough to draw the firecrab card to find out what's wrong._ She steeled her resolve, turned the doorknob, and peeked inside.

…_Of course, teenager. How could I forget?_ She shook her head as she looked at her niece's still-sleeping form. The girl had curled up in a ball with the bedspread covering her, only her head sticking out; the black hair laying over her face finished camouflaging her amidst the dark sheets. Narcissa's lips quirked as she took in the sight. _I swear, it's almost scary how much she reminds me of Bella at that age_.

Chuckling, she walked closer and gently shook Jen's shoulder. The youngest Black jerked slightly before stretching out. "Cissy?" she yawned while she wiped crust out of her milky eyes. "What is it?"

"While I'm sure you would if given the choice, there's no reason to sleep in this late. It's already time for lunch." Jen nodded and sat up, the bedspread falling to reveal bare skin that caused Narcissa to pause. While no longer knickers-drenchingly cute, Jen was still a beautiful young woman, at least in her admittedly biased eyes. "Didn't Andi buy you some pyjamas?"

Jen shook her head, a smile on her lips. "Never did I think _you_ would had a problem with me being naked."

"That was _before_," she said sharply. Jen tilted her head, so she explained in a gentler tone, "Ever since Sirius found you, I've been regretting that we had sex even once, let alone weekly for three years. It was wrong, and I'm sorry."

"And I'm sorry you feel that way; I always treasured our time together, both as lovers and then as friends once I grew too old for you. Still, I…" Trailing off, Jen pursed her lips. "Aunt Cissy, what's that around your neck?"

She blushed when the necklace rose out from under the shallow dip of her dress. It was a simple thing, just a Muggle coin and some colored beads dangling from a string, but what mattered was the meaning behind it. "Lara gave it to me last night."

"She finally got out of greeter duty, huh? Good for her, only took her a year or so to learn when to keep her opinions to herself. I have to say, though, it seems a _mite_ hypocritical for you to come in here and disparage our old relationship when you just got back from being another kid's first real roll in the sack." Jen released her magic's hold on the necklace with a frown.

Narcissa blinked in surprise, wondering what the girl meant until comprehension struck. "I think I see now. I am not — and I very much doubt I ever will be— ashamed of who I am or what my preferences are. However, not only are you a witch and therefore off-limits from a moral standpoint, you were already part of this family, even if neither of us knew at the time. In that light, our actions were _highly_ inappropriate."

"Oh. Well, that makes more sense, I suppose. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions."

"Totally understandable under the circumstances." She sat on the edge of the bed, close enough to lay a hand on Jen's covered leg. "This wasn't wanted to talk to your about, though. Sirius, Andi, and I were worried about how quiet you were last night at dinner. Were you considering Lily's apology?"

"What? No!"

She continued as if she hadn't heard; she needed to say this before she lost her nerve. "Because if you _were_ debating reaching out to the Potters and giving them a second chance, we… we would understand. James _is_ your father, after all, and Lily… well…"

"Auntie," Jen interrupted, taking her hand from the bed and gripping it gently. "The Potters threw me away because I was inconvenient and never once second-guessed themselves until the folly of that decision was shoved in their faces. You, Aunt Andi, and Sirius brought me in and accepted me immediately, uncaring that I had only the most tenuous of connections to you. James may have sired me and Lily given birth to me, but _you_ are my family."

Narcissa perked up at that. Lily Potter had seemed genuinely remorseful; though she had hoped it wasn't the case, it would not be abnormal for Jen to want a real parental figure, something none of them were. She and Andromeda were her aunts, and Sirius alternated between uncle, cousin, and even younger brother as the mood took him. She didn't want Jen to leave, but if the girl thought returning to the Potters was for the best, she would have supported the decision. Of course, it went without saying she'd also try to persuade Jen otherwise at the same time; she _had_ been a Slytherin, after all. Thankfully, that wasn't the case.

"Besides, why would I downgrade to being a member of a mere Noble House when I have so much more power here as an Ancient House's heiress?" Jen added with a grin.

She smirked in return. "Hush, scamp. Don't forget that there are two others who can take your place should you be too cheeky. Get dressed while I tell Kreacher to make you something to eat; we have an appointment with Moira Tattings in an hour to have your dress robe properly fitted." She rose only to be pulled to a stop when Jen refused to release her hand.

"Aunt Cissy, I have a personal question for you," Jen asked slowly, tugging her back to the bed. "It's the first day of winter holidays, and yet you're here rather than with your husband and son. I don't mind — you know I enjoy having you around — but why is that?"

Sighing, Narcissa made herself comfortable. "My relationship with Lucius is… practically nonexistent. As you might have guessed, I did not marry him because we were in love; Great-Uncle Arcturus negotiated a contract between us when I was sixteen, after a couple of quiet rumors sprang up that I had been caught in a broom closet snogging a first year."

"Were you?"

"Oh yes, not that he or the prefect who caught us remembered the next day. Still, the damage had been done. Arcturus was good friends with Cassius, Lucius's grandfather, so everything was organized exceedingly quickly. We have since come to an acceptable arrangement: he provides me a lifestyle befitting my station and heritage while I provide him an heir, a properly behaved wife for the societal functions he cannot escape, and a reasonable excuse for those he can. Beyond that, we are civil to each other but little else."

"What about Draco?" Jen prompted.

"Draco… is very much his father's son," she said sadly, "though he was not always like that. As a baby, he was so happy, always laughing and exploring. I loved him so much that I raised him entirely by myself rather than let the house elves do the dirty work as is common amongst the elite of our society. I may also have spoiled him, just a little.

"Unfortunately, Lucius began tutoring him personally when he turned eight; though I do not know for sure, I suspect Lucius believed he was too 'soft' due to his time with me. Draco has adored his father his entire life, so he saw finally being able to spend every day with his hero as an incredible gift. He constantly tried to emulate Lucius in every way, and soon that included wanting nothing to do with me."

She sighed as Jen slid close and wrapped pale arms around her. "I loved him when he was a baby, I loved him when he was a child, and even now that he treats me like a virtual stranger, I can't help but love him still, but it doesn't mean that I want to spend all my time with him, nor with Lucius." Returning her niece's hug, she whispered, "Not when I have real family again."

"You do," Jen replied equally as softly. "Draco may not appreciate you being his mother like he should, but I wouldn't give up having you as my aunt for anything."

* * *

Feeling the hands of her pocket watch, Jen growled in irritation. She had been waiting in the same spot for a while now, and winter nights were cold! The warming charm she had erected around the area surged again, chasing away the worst of the chill but slapping her with another uncomfortable rush of hot, dry air. _What the bloody hell is taking so long?!_

Arriving here had not been difficult; in fact, scrying for the location was the hardest part. From there, she simply snuck out of the house while everyone else was asleep and followed the route she had planned through the unfortunately empty streets to a nearby bar, one she stood across the street from. A quick walk around the building to place monitoring charms on the exits later, it was just a matter of time before her quarry revealed itself.

A pulse running through the connection she had to her charms made her perk up, only for a second to come right on its heels. She sighed and settled back against the wall. Her plans called for a single sacrifice, and she preferred to avoid purposeless kills; that meant the couples and small groups that had been leaving the bar would not do. Selecting a victim from a group would almost certainly require silencing or stunning charms and mind control and memory modification and just more trouble than she wanted in the ungodly early hours of the morning. Far better was picking someone who was alone.

Yet another pulse hit her, but after a moment there was still not a fourth. _That's what I'm talking about_, she thought gleefully. Bending what little light there was around her to render herself invisible, she silently teleported to the door.

The man who had set off her alarm had not moved far away, too drunk to do more than stumble haphazardly in a rough heading toward the parking lot. Immediately she erected a field to make everyone ignore what happened inside it. Molding her will, she threw a stunner into his back and caught him with her magic before he could hit the ground. Extending her invisibility to shroud him, she dispelled her avoidance charm, grabbed him, and teleported once more.

The slightest crack heralded her arrival in a small hamlet a few miles away from Cardiff. Her prize floating behind her, she stepped onto an unkempt lawn and shivered as icy wards ripped away her invisibility and flash-froze the scant moisture on her skin. "Surely a few months can't have been long enough for him to forget me," she murmured unhappily. Letting her magic play along the defense's surface, she reached through them and reinforced her connection with the house's wardstone. The cold let up slowly at first, but soon the wards embraced her as the entirety of the house faded into her awareness; she did not even have to reach out for the door to open for her. "Aww, I missed you, too."

Jen walked through the rooms of the one-story house, vanishing the dust that had accumulated since the last time she visited. This had been Elsie's home for many years, but she had come by less and less often as her magical ability surpassed her master's; in the months following the woman's death and ownership being passed to her, she had returned only for occasional upkeep. She would never live there again — the year she had done so before joining Candyland ensured _that_ — but no matter how demanding and borderline cruel the old Haitian had been, Jen still had too many good memories to sell it.

Well, good memories _and_ the reason she was there to begin with.

She levitated the couch to the other side of the tiny den and revealed a door set in the wooden floor. Opening it, she walked down the stairs it hid, the utter lack of illumination not bothering her a bit. The basement below was primitive in the extreme: stone walls, dirt floor, and plain wooden shelves full of plants, books, candles, preserved organs, and other miscellanea along the far wall.

There was also a small desk in the corner next to the supplies, and it was here she headed next. Jen pulled her ritual dagger out of the belt loops of her old jeans and laid it on the surface, then added the bag of herbs Kreacher purchased for her earlier a couple of days earlier. Removing the heavy coat she had borrowed from Sirius, albeit without his knowledge, along with her blouse revealed her naked torso; she slipped her trainers off as well, leaving only the trousers to 'preserve her modesty'. While it was not essential for her to be unclothed just yet, she preferred completing her preparations in the same outfit she would wear for the actual ritual.

She maintained that disrobing in the middle broke her concentration during the longer scripts; Elsie had always rejoined that working in the brothel had simply turned her into a shameless exhibitionist.

Grabbing her dagger from the desk, she walked to the center of the wide room and began carving in the soil, moving slowly and methodically to avoid mistakes. First came the patterned cross, four feet long and three wide, then the intricate coffin at its feet. At the head she drew two Futhark runes, an inverted uruz and a backwards hagalaz for domination and loss, respectively. Finally, she etched a shallow ring eight feet in diameter around the symbols. Satisfied at the arctic power she could already feel radiating from the designs even though no real magic had yet taken place, she turned her attention to the ritual's power source.

A brief thought lit the sconces along the walls, and then she woke the man from her stunner. He groaned. "Ugh, what the —?"

He didn't get any further than that as she conjured a thick wad of cloth in his mouth. "As much as I would love to chat, we simply do not have the time. Suffice it to say that I have need of you at the moment." She lowered him onto the drawn cross, her magic holding his limbs spread, and then a twitch of her fingers conjured four large titanium nails. Another twitch flung them into the ground through his wrists and ankles.

"I do apologize," she said clinically, likely unheard through his muffled screams, "but this ritual works best if you are aware and in pain for its entirety. I refuse to go into a confrontation with an incubus, newly awakened or not, without some form of insurance. Between torturing you and performing this on the winter solstice, the day of the year when dark magic is at its peak, I will be able to create the most potent _poupe lavi_ possible."

She diverted a bit of energy from the room into the drawn ring and felt it snap closed while expanding into three dimensions. Similar to yet totally different from wards, protective circles were essential to the Higher Magics, both black and white, and excised the space contained from the rest of the world. A simple circle like this one could not divert physical objects or spells, but there was no way for magic to passively flow from one side to the other. She hated being inside circles since she could not sense outside them, but she would rather be limited in that regard than chance a random flux interfering with the ritual.

Slipping the dagger back into her jeans, she returned to the desk and picked up the paper bag. As she turned back, she suddenly stopped. "I'm forgetting something. What?" Feeling the shelves with her sonar, she found what she was looking for. "Oh boy, that would have been _bad_." A flick of her wrist called four items to her, and she pushed the coat off the desk to make space. Humming lightly, she took some tobacco out of a small burlap bag and dropped it into a metal ashtray, then filled a shot glass with rum. She lit the tobacco. "There, that should do it."

With one final stop at the shelves to pick up the last components, Jen stepped thorough the gossamer dome close to the man's legs, her nipples hardening and goosebumps breaking out at the freezing temperature inside. She dumped five bundles of herbs out of the bag, then untied them and began braiding the plants into a rough human form. "Comfrey, thyme, heal my wounds," she muttered. "Fern and lilac, protect me from harm. Jasmine, seductress, serve in my stead. Speak with my voice."

Weaving her doll did not take long thanks to the practice she had gotten with the weeds collected from Grimmauld Place's garden, and then she was ready for the next step. She vanished the man's shirt and picked up a small gem. "Garnet, stone of the heart, hold an imprint of this life." Using a silver knife to cut him lightly on the side, she coated the stone in the blood that welled up and slid it into the body of her figurine. She plucked a hair from her head and tied the top of her poppet closed.

"Now comes the _fun_ part," she muttered sarcastically as she reached for where she had laid two shallow goblets. Leaving the golden one on the ground, she set a wonky iron cup in front of her. She then drew her dagger and slid the serrated edge along a scar on the inside of her left wrist, cutting lengthwise to avoid severing her tendons. Blood ran into the cup for a moment before she healed herself. She set her blade beside her, grabbed the goblet, and moved to straddle her victim. Dipping a finger in her blood, she drew the same runes she had carved in the ground on his chest, then added an inverted fehu right over his heart marking him as her slave, her property to do with as she wished. After laying the doll on the newest mark, she switched goblets and vanished the nail pinning his right arm down.

She caught his fist when he swung it at her. "Ah, ah, ah, none of that, now. The more you fight…" She shattered the tiny bones of his hand, then, paying close attention to the drain on the space's available magic, activated all his pain receptors simultaneously, causing him to scream even louder. "…the more I have to hurt you." Her magic held his arm still as she grabbed her dagger and slashed his wrist above the gaping hole to avoid contamination and to imbue his blood with deathly magic, made even more potent from the torment he had just suffered. She collected more of his gushing fluid than she had spilled of her own before sealing the wound and restraining his arm once more. The spike punched a new hole through the limb closer to his elbow. Again she drew runes, this time an upright uruz and hagalaz on the tops of her breasts, but just below her cleavage she added a different symbol than he was sporting: kenaz, the symbol for life and regeneration. Steeling herself for the next act, she drank the rest of the blood in the goblet.

Immediately she started choking as lightning shot down her esophagus and into her stomach. For a brief moment, she felt like she was being torn in two; that sensation faded, leaving her with an echo of a rapid heartbeat not her own. She licked her lips to get the rest of the vital liquid before finishing the ritual. Moving above the man's head, she leaned over and softly kissed the corner of his mouth. "I doubt you have any charitable thoughts about me right now, but that doesn't change the fact that I am grateful for your help. May you find peace in the afterlife."

With that epitaph, she reached out with her dagger and slit his throat.

As her fight with the dragon had recently proved, it did not take long for something to die from a severed carotid artery or jugular vein. The ritual, however, slowed down this process dramatically. Her victim's body spasmed in pain as the the vibrations signifying life reacted to the magic she had wrought on him, growing more intense at his chest while ceasing in his hands and feet. Stillness crept along his limbs, and several minutes later his chest seized, the vibrations oozing through the rune over his heart and into her figure of herbs. With a final exhalation, he slumped to the ground.

She picked up her newest toy with a smile. While not a 'Voodoo doll' in the stereotypical sense, this was far more useful at the moment. It was a _poupe lavi_, a life doll, housing the vitality she had stolen from the corpse. Should she be severely hurt, it would automatically draw energy from the garnet and heal her injuries. Even lethal wounds could be reversed so long as there was power stored inside.

There was also the nice benefit that it would serve as a second reserve of life-force if her discussion with Zabini ended poorly and he tried to drain her on instinct. A girl could never be too careful, after all.

Of course, there were disadvantages to a _poupe lavi_, just as with all magics. For one, she could only use a single augmentation doll at a time, which meant no _poupe zam_ or _poupe bèt_ to increase her resilience or physical abilities. Dolls also 'leaked' their magic, meaning that even if she had no need for it, it would still be useless in nine months. There was also the fact that _poupe_ were just as easy to destroy as the plants that they were made of, which was why Voodoo practitioners commonly coated completed dolls in mud they could ensorcel with defensive charms as it dried.

Jen, however, had a better method to protect her doll. Rising from her kneeling position next to the corpse, she scuffed a heel through the circle to break it and let the relative warmth from the rest of the room rush in, then she walked to the corner of the basement closest to the stairs. A flick of her wrist pulled off the fake wall covering the little alcove. She laid the hand not holding her doll on her hip and in a stern tone asked, "Just what did you think you were doing earlier, trying to keep me out of the house?"

If someone had seen Elsie walking down the street in the past few years, they would have presumed her to be just a frail old grandmother; they would also have made a terrible mistake. She was not a powerful witch, nor was she physically imposing, but what she _was_ was ruthless, amoral, and diabolically clever. She had finally passed away at the extraordinary age of one-hundred and seventy, and in those years she had conducted numerous experiments, including the one currently in front of Jen. The withered body inside the closet shook lightly as the magic bound to its bones circulated faster. It gave a pitiful whine and projected a feeling of regret.

"Sorry's not going to cut it this time, Alain. Elsie is _dead_; this house belongs to _me_ now. I didn't take umbrage when you hustled me out all those times, but _never_ bar me from entering again, understand?" The mummified remains whimpered again and gave a minute nod. She smiled at the acquiescence and patted his head gently.

Alain was surely Elsie's greatest achievement. Examining the unrelated theories of soul jars and zombies, she had devised a way to bind an individual's soul to his still-living body, creating an effective — if flawed — form of immortality. The problem was that of the two people she had done this to, neither had come out with their minds intact. The first, a stranger she had chosen at random, had to be destroyed a few days later due to its constant rages. The second was Alain, a great-nephew who had been devoted to her in life and only became more so when she altered him. The woman had used him for physical protection and manual labor for many years until he began to weaken, then tied his mind to the house's wardstone in an attempt to give the building intelligence; unfortunately, that had shattered most of what was left of the man's psyche. Now, he was little more than an interface to the wards that was also a major pain in Jen's arse nine times out of ten. If only he weren't one of the few legacies Elsie left to her.

"I do have something you can do to make it up to me, though." She uncurled the stiff hand that wasn't resting on the football-sized wardstone and put her doll in it. "Keep this safe. If someone unknown breaches the wards and manages to discover the basement, bring it along with Elsie's journals and the stone when you ride the portkey to safety." Knowing that Alain was incapable of disobeying a direct order, she replaced the entrance to his alcove.

Walking back to the center of the room, she vanished the nails from her sacrifice's body and levitated it. She then added the clumps of soil that had absorbed the spilled blood; with a surge of aimless hatred, she set the corpse ablaze with cursed fire. While that burned to nothing at a far faster pace than any natural flame would be capable of, she smoothed the dirt floor to erase her veve and disperse any lingering energy. She moved back to the desk so she could vanish the ashes from the tobacco and return the dish and the empty glass to the shelves, then vanished leftover blood from the goblets and knife moved them back as well. She dressed herself before grabbing a handful of sage and igniting it with normal fire; the smoke from this herb had exorcism properties, forcing the dead man's angry spirit to depart in case it had decided to stick around and haunt her.

She pulled out her pocket watch to check the time; already three-thirty. _Good, I still have enough time to return home and get a few hours' sleep. It's been a long day._

* * *

**I hope none of you forgot that as likable as Jen is, she is not a **_**nice**_** person. Out of curiosity, does anyone pay attention to the runes and meanings I give, or should I just say she drew/carved runes on whatever and save myself the trouble?**

**Silently Watches out.**


	23. Which Holiday Are We Celebrating, Again?

**magitech, ShadowCub:** Jen used a Muggle because 1) they're less likely to fight back if surprised with magic, 2) it's more common for Muggles to disappear and never be seen again, and 3) while magic extends a person's time alive, it just supplements — not increases — the amount of lifeforce already present, so the extra risk isn't worth it.

**obsidian-fox:** While you seem to have forgotten that Jen is confronting Zabini because an awakening incubus is a danger to _every girl in Hogwarts_, I agree that she can be quite wicked. This shouldn't come as a surprise, though; you've known since chapter 13, 16 at the latest, that practicing Voodoo makes her _a serial killer!_ No, Jen will be alive and well at the end of the story.

**apAidan:** As a fan of yours, I'll say right now that I _enjoy_ the insane amount of detail in your stories. A big part of why I find writing this fic so much fun is that I get to dance on the line between sympathetic and repugnant.

**Disclaimer:** Is the Wizarding World an extremely conservative society that also appears to be entirely atheist? If so, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.

* * *

**Chapter 23  
****Which Holiday Are We Celebrating, Again?**

_What in the world are they doing?_, Jen wondered as she walked down the stairs to the kitchen. She had been working on her winter assignments in the library when she noticed Cissy, Andi, and Dora trimming the lamps and setting up a number of candles. She attempted to subtly read their minds to satisfy her curiosity, but her aunts had taken to keeping mental shields up whenever she was in the house — to be fair, it could just as easily be that they had their defenses raised at _all_ times — and her cousin was equally as clueless as she. That left only one other route to discover what was going on: join them and ask her question directly.

She opened the door in time to hear Dora's voice. "So, will you two eventually get around to telling me what in Merlin's name we're doing, or should I just start making assumptions?"

"You don't know?" Cissy asked, clearly surprised. "Ah, Jen, we were about to come get you. Andi, did you just decide one day to teach your daughter nothing at all about our culture?"

"You know I've never been the biggest fan of Solstice traditions. Besides, Ted and Dora both prefer Christmas because of his Muggle roots."

Jen cleared her throat. "And the difference between Solstice and Christmas celebrations is…?" When she trailed off, Cissy turned expectantly to her sister.

"Well, there are quite a few, the timing being a relatively minor one. Solstice isn't as much of gift-giving holiday, so rather than a multitude of small presents, an entire family gives a single item to each member, generally something useful or expensive."

"Which is why we purchased only a few things when we were shopping, Jen," Cissy cut in. "We may be opening them on Christmas rather than today, but I convinced Sirius to let you have a taste of the Old Ways at least once."

"Quite. May I continue now, sister? There is also a Ministry ball that all Heads of Houses must attend, hence why Sirius is not here. Beyond that, each family has its own practices, such as the one we are about to begin.

"You see, the winter solstice is the day when the Dark Powers are at their strongest, allowing them to reach out from their twilight realms and influence our world. Doing so weakens the Veil, and though the divide is not as thin as it is at Halloween, the dead can still hear our messages on this day. Our family's custom is for the women of the House to light candles for our deceased friends and family if we could not do so earlier in the year and wish them peace and good fortune in the afterlife."

"Quick question, Mum," Dora interjected. "What are you talking about, _'Dark Powers'_? It sounds almost like you believe in gods of some kind."

Andi paused for a moment before answering. "I do not _personally_ consider them gods, per se, but I recognize there exist entities with far greater abilities than any human has ever possessed. The lord of the Wild Hunt, Nyarlathotep, the Unseelie Queen, Tiamat the Grand Wyrm… beings that pop up here and again throughout history, rarely to the benefit of the person they interact with. According to the Old Ways, our world cycles back and forth throughout the year between their grasp and that of the Light Powers."

"Whether you choose to worship them is your own decision, but that is not the point right now," Cissy chided.

"You're right, it's not. Since you're so impatient today, why don't you do the honors and start us off?"

The younger sister harrumphed at her sibling's retort and pulled four tapers closer to her. Lighting them with her wand, she spoke softly, "I light these candles for Arcturus, Orion, Walburga, and Regulus Black, who have none of their line to remember them on this day."

"Do this with me, Narcissa," Andi murmured. They added two more to the row and said together, "We light these candles for our parents, Cygnus and Druella Black."

"…What can it hurt? I light these candles for Rebecca and Obadiah Stonewall."

Andi lowered her head in sympathy. Cautiously, Jen asked, "Who were they, Dora?"

"Rebecca entered the Auror training program the same day I did, and we spent a lot time getting to know each other those first few months. She quit when she found out she was pregnant, but we stayed friends. She even asked me to be her son's godmother. Her cottage caught fire in the middle of the night last year; neither of them made it out." Dora brushed a hand over her face to wipe away her tears.

"I'm sorry," Jen said. She hesitated briefly before dragging a ninth candle into line. "I light this candle for Elspeth Durand."

Cissy came up behind her and laid thin hands on her shoulders. "She was the mentor you told us about, wasn't she? Elsie?"

"Yes. She was a cunning and frightfully intelligent woman, but she was also prideful. One day she decided to try something exceedingly foolish, and her experiment fell apart almost immediately, destroying her with it. Still, it takes an amazing teacher to turn even her own demise into a lesson, and she certainly did that."

Curious despite herself, Dora voiced the question plaguing both older women. "What lesson was that?"

"Death will always claim what is His."

* * *

Sirius beamed as the last of the extended Black clan entered the sitting room on Christmas Day. "Now that we are all _finally_ here," he looked pointedly at Narcissa, who retaliated with a roll of her eyes, "we can get started. Let's hope none of you wrapped anything that was going to go bad."

"Yes, yes, I'm late. Some issues concerning the party Lucius and I are hosting tonight sprang up, and they had to be settled right then. You'll have to forgive me. Incidentally, he and Draco both apologize that they are unable to join us this afternoon." She plopped next to Ted and motioned with her hand for him to get on with it.

Well, who was he to deny such an invitation? He grabbed the first gift from the far too small stack and read the label. "Dora, catch!"

"Wha — Hey!" She ducked under the package as it flew through the space her head had occupied a moment earlier. "Watch it, Sirius!"

"Stop whining and open your present."

She glared at him for a moment before picking it up suspiciously. "If this is something silly, I swear I'm going to hex you all the way to the Hebrides and back." Ripping the paper off, she opened the box and pulled out a thick, dark vest. "Merlin's beard, is this…?"

"Dragonhide armor. Rather appropriate threat considering that came from a Hebridean Black."

"But… how? It's illegal to sell these to anyone who isn't an Auror or a Hit Wizard."

He shrugged his shoulders. "There was a stone or two of parchmentwork to complete and I had to make a magical vow to Amelia Bones that I would only give it to you and not keep it for myself, but overall the process wasn't too difficult, just time-consuming." He grinned at her still-incredulous expression. Reaching for the next parcel, his smile widened. "And we have another Tonks. Ted?"

The fair-haired man raised his hands in front of his face. "Are you going to throw it already, or should I grab another cuppa while you get your act together?" Sirius may have flung the box a little harder than absolutely necessary. "One of the new notepads that automatically cross-reference what's written in it? I've been wanting this since they came out."

"I would have _preferred_ these portkey and resort reservations not hurtling at me," Andi remarked dryly a couple of minutes later, "but we will enjoy them nonetheless. Ted, dear, when did you tell Sirius we wanted to go to the Maldives?"

"He didn't tell me anything," Sirius denied.

Jen lifted her head up. "Don't look at me. I was in Hogwarts this whole time."

"I knew, but it never crossed my mind, Mum." The resident metamorph turned to the only other person in the room. "Which just leaves you."

Narcissa smiled in mild embarrassment as she absently stroked the new niffler-fur stole laying across her lap. "He told me during one of our lunches that you dreamed of having a second honeymoon there. Considering how I've pretended you didn't exist since your wedding, this seemed like a good way to start making it up to you."

"I appreciate it, Cissy, I truly do. Of course, I have to ask; _one_ of your lunches?" She flicked an amused glance between Narcissa and Ted. "Should I be worried that my baby sister and my husband seem to be arranging private trysts behind my back?"

Jen outright _cackled_ at that.

"It's nothing like that; I just figured that after twenty-some years, it's long past time for me to get to know my brother-in-law. You know well that I'm not a fan of Muggleborns generally, but I'll admit that if you _had_ to marry one of them, he is probably the best you could find."

"…Thank you?" Ted responded warily.

Deciding that was more than enough blind prejudice for the moment, Sirius grabbed the next parcel. He smiled when he saw that the small box had his name on it and shredded the paper in his haste to see the contents. Once he opened it out, though, he frowned. "_Bad Dog: 30 Surefire Tricks to Curb Your Incorrigible Crup_. Why is it that after none of you let me plan a prank with the presents, _I'm_ the one who's the butt of a joke?"

"I think you just answered your own question," Jen answered. "Why don't you take it out of the box before you start complaining?"

He followed her advice, and his eyes widened as he spotted his real gift underneath it. "Tickets to all the Hollyhead Harpies' spring games!"

"We figured you'd like that. If you ever turned down an opportunity to ogle women without consequence, we would have an impostor in the room," Andi said with a grin.

"You know me so well. Now, last but… no, last and least, we have Jen's — Ow!" He rubbed the side of his leg where the girl had shocked him.

She held up one hand, a small arc of lightning crackling as it hopped back and forth between her thumb and index finger. "Don't throw that at me."

He sighed and slid the large package over to her. "Take all the fun out it, why don't you?" She just smirked in reply.

Every member of the family smiled when she pulled on her present. Reaching down to her ankles, the duster was a brilliant white, though tiny streaks of blue, green, and red gleamed where the light hit it at just the right angle. He couldn't see them at this distance, but he knew that a closer inspection would reveal a faint pattern of scales. It normally took much longer than a few weeks to produce a specially-tailored dragonhide coat like this one, but the hideworkers who had bought that part of the Opaleye Jen killed were effusive in their gratitude and had put a rush on the order. When asked, they explained that they rarely received any skins not from dragons that had died of old age or were rent to pieces while fighting; this one was in near perfect condition and would, supposedly, be a joy to work with.

Jen turned her head as she faced each of them in turn. "You know, there are days I _really_ hate being blind. What do I look like that has you all so pleased?"

"Here, let me show you." Narcissa made herself comfortable on the couch, and then they froze in place.

Dora sidled up to him as the two relaxed. "Is it just me, or is them doing that just a little creepy?" Sirius nodded; even as close as he had gotten to Narcissa over the previous half year, he still would not want to poke around in her head or permit her into his. That they would exchange memories without a second thought showed a disconcerting degree of trust and reminded him of their previous 'relationship', not a subject he enjoyed dwelling on.

"Oh, my," Jen murmured.

He cleared his throat and called his goddaughter's attention back to him. "Don't get cocky and think you can just shrug off any curses that come your way. As Dora said, only Aurors and Hit Wizards can own armor; while it looks good on you, it won't protect you any better than if it were made out of normal leather." Considering how little time they had had to get this ready, it was a good thing it _wasn't_ armor. The specifics were a closely-guarded secret, but he knew from his time as a Hit Wizard himself that hide meant for protective vests had to soak in a variety of potions to soften the scales without ruining its defensive qualities and that that tanning process could take anywhere from four to ten months depending on the particular breed.

"Not being armor doesn't make me love it any less. Thank you, all of you." She pulled the coat tighter around herself and smiled; for some reason, Padfoot felt a nigh-irrepressible urge to dig a hole and hide. "Now I'm actually kind of disappointed that the Yule ball is formal wear only. I can't wait to show this off."

* * *

Tossing a plum up and down in one hand, Jen pondered on how to phrase her letter. "_'Fraulein Eberhardt, I enjoyed watching you dance last night…'_; no, no, that makes it sound like it's from a stalker or a student, neither of which I want. _'I hope you have had a Merry Christmas…_'? Maybe, but probably not." She took a bite and lifted it to shoulder level to share with Loki. "I don't want to sound too friendly. If I do, she might get the idea that she can ignore my 'requests'.

"Maybe a middle road between those two openings? _'Hopefully you enjoyed your Yule ball last night. I do not come bearing Christmas gifts_ —_'_. Definitely not the second part."

Loki snapped his beak twice, then let out a repetitive series of rough coughing calls.

"Too long? Actually, you have a point. Short and sweet might be the best route to go." She summoned her DictaQuill to a sheet of parchment floating mid-air in her bedroom. "_'Fraulein Eberhardt, Hopefully you enjoyed your Yule ball last night. However, I now have a job for you to complete._'" Levitating the quill, she asked, "How seedy should this false persona be?"

The raven shrugged his wings before clambering down her arm to get to their plum. She sighed and tossed the half-eaten food onto the dresser where Loki quickly descended upon it. "Baron bless me, but there are days I wonder if a better name for you wouldn't have been 'Flying Stomach'.

"'_As should be expected, there is considerable attention on who will win the upcoming wandless duels, and it is a matter of no small amount of money. The next Task is in shortly less than a month, so you have two weeks to discover all you can about your opponents' strategies. Obviously, you should not neglect to include your own as well. I will contact you again to give you the address to which you will send your information.'_ That should do it."

"Jen! It's six o'clock!"

"Just a second, Auntie!" Grateful for Andi's reminder, she pulled a bit of ink from the well on her desk and spread it at the end of the letter. A moment of effort had it shaped into a bird track. "Come on, Loki. I know you don't like staying up that late, but I need you to wait until little Ingrid either falls asleep or doesn't show up in her room tonight before delivering this. I promise I'll make it up to you tomorrow." There was silence from the dresser, so she continued, "I'll get you some honeycomb."

A pause, then he croaked sullenly and glided to her shoulder, eliciting a smile. Her familiar _adored_ honey, but she refused to give him nearly as much as he wanted. She had let him gorge himself on it only once, and he had been so sick for the next several days that she refused to do it again. Now it was just for special occasions or bribes.

"Jen!"

She dried the ink on her letter and slipped it into her pocket. Grabbing the bag containing her dress for the ball, she hurried downstairs to the drawing room. She only had two hours to travel to Hogwarts and get ready.

* * *

Luna knocked on the door sharply. "Jen, it's almost time for the party to start. Are you nearly done?" The door swung open. Shrugging, the blonde poked her head into the room. "Did you hear me?"

"Yes, Luna, I heard you. Come on in."

She entered fully and couldn't help but admire the dress her best friend wore. Bright tracery, likely real silver thread, danced on a resplendent background of midnight blue crushed velvet; the dark color made Jen's pale shoulders positively glow in comparison. With her deportment and charm, she would be the belle of the ball.

The younger girl barely withheld a wistful sigh; that outfit had undoubtedly cost more than the _Quibbler_ could make in months. The Black heiress may be far richer than any of her friends bar Susan Bones, who was also a member of an Ancient House, but each of them came from at least some money, even if Kenneth's family was only middle-class and Justin's was all-Muggle. Luna, on the other hand, was just the daughter of a poor newspaper printer. On days like this, she couldn't help but feel incredibly out of place, a pebble polished half-heartedly before being forgotten next to a box of pearls.

"Are you all right?" Jen asked softly, turning the chair at the desk around to face her while running hands through dark hair to straighten the kinky strands.

She blushed at being caught woolgathering. "I'm fine, just thinking."

"About the ball? It's not right that you can't come. I mean, you're only a third year because your birthday is in October; the dance _should_ be open to anyone fourteen or older."

"I told you, I don't have a problem with it. It'll be fun to have run of the Tower since all the upper years will be in attendance. I think I'll just stretch out on the couch by the fireplace and read in peace for a couple of hours. Speaking of which…" She pulled a palm-sized wad of color out of her pocket and enlarged it to its full tie-dyed glory before handing it over self-consciously. Jen unwrapped it to find an old leather-bound book. "It's _The Collected Stories of Beedle Lovegood_, the… less child-friendly version of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_. I thought you'd like them since you were so interested in the story about the three brothers Peverell."

Jen smirked like she was enjoying some private joke. "I was, indeed; thank you for this. Did you like your present?"

Nodding, she pulled her sleeve up to display the golden chain around her wrist. Three charms already dangled from it: a puppy, an open book, and a shield embossed with the Blacks' distinctive coat of arms. She couldn't help but wonder what they meant; her first guess was that Jen was publicly claiming some kind of ownership over her, though the older girl's words and actions had never given that impression before. _And why doesn't the thought of her doing so upset me? Maybe the adolicky-repelling charms around my bed need to be recast if they are twisting my thoughts around like this._ "If you don't mind, could you explain them?"

"Well, my family's crest should be fairly obvious. The book represents you due to your wealth of esoteric knowledge; I couldn't find any heraldry for your family, I'm afraid, or I'd have used that." Now pleased with her hair, Jen ran a finger over her lips and colored them an icy blue; her wandless magic left Luna unsure whether it was a glamour or more complex human transfiguration. Such a spell was seventh year material, but it wouldn't surprise her to find that Jen already knew it. Anyone who had mastered wandless magic by fourteen should have no issues learning difficult magic ahead of schedule. "As for the puppy… Ruby's Jewels simply didn't have any creatures with nine legs in their collection."

The blonde dropped her eyes bashfully as her face flared brighter. She knew they were friends, and Jen had affirmed that in words before, but such a permanent, physical reminder was very touching.

Jen gave a gentle tug on her fringe, transfiguring it to a shorter length, and looked up at Luna with eyes just a shade or two lighter than her dress. Standing and spinning once in place, she asked, "How do I look?"

"Beautiful. If I were in Zabini's place, I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off you." Luna slapped said hands over her mouth, shocked at what she had just unintentionally uttered. _Morgana's soggy knickers, why would I ever say something like that? What is Jen going to think? Maybe… maybe she wasn't listening._

Her meager hopes were dashed when the other girl cocked her head in silent invitation to continue. She didn't, and strangely Jen just grinned wickedly. "Oh, so _that's_ how it is, huh?" Her friend walked — _no, that's not walking, that's __**slinking**_ — closer; since she couldn't seem to uproot her feet from the floor, they were side by side in a matter of moments. "I thank you for the compliment, _Lu-na Love-good_." The syllables rolling off Jen's tongue like she was tasting each one individually, the older girl leaned in and delivered a cool, feathery kiss to her burning cheek. With the way this evening had been going, she'd be lucky to not have her entire face melt off.

Hot breath on her ear indicated that her luck fairy had, in fact, taken the night off. "Blushing from so little, my sweet moonchild? You are just too precious." Finally granting her mercy, or perhaps merely setting her aside to play with later like a cat would a crippled mouse, Jen stepped past her. "I have no idea when I'll be back tonight, so don't wait up for me."

The door snapped shut, and she could at last relax. That had been simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating, and Luna was sure she could do without such a strange combination of heady emotions for the rest of the night. Shivering for reasons she could not put a name to, she waited a minute before exiting the dorm and making her way to the common room.

Yet even there she could not find peace. A traitorous voice in the back of her mind, the same one that doubted her father's claims of the Crumple-Horned Snorkacks' existence and whispered to her that cowering before bullies would do nothing but prolong her pain, giggled softly. _You are in __**so**__ much trouble_.

* * *

"Simply stunning, but I have to ask: did you choose a dress to match your eyes, or glamour your eyes to match the dress?"

Jen smiled pleasantly and falsely at Zabini's question. Because she could not wear her blindfold tonight, Andi had cast an illusion on her eyes prior to her Flooing back to Scotland. If anyone noticed that something was off with them, she could play it off just as he had fallen for and imply it was to fit in with the rest of her color scheme. "Now, now, you should know you can't just ask a lady to give up her mystique. Besides, isn't drawing our secrets out one by one more fun?"

Before he could respond, McGonagall opened the doors to the Great Hall. "Champions over here, please!"

Only after everyone else had entered the room did they line up next to their partners. _Let's see; get through dinner and an evening of dancing without allowing anyone to see through the illusion, confront an incubus, and avoid making a fool of myself in a social situation I have never experienced before. Piece of cake._ She took a subtle breath as she linked arms with her escort, letting it out when the champions began moving forwards.

_Showtime._

* * *

**The only "Dark Power" that isn't from mythology is Nyarlathotep; he (it?) belongs to H.P. Lovecraft.**

**If **_**The Tales of Beedle the Bard**_** is the magical world's fairy tales, **_**The Collected Stories**_** is the original Brothers Grimm. Not something you want to read to your kids at bedtime.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	24. Aggressive Negotiations

**kishinokurobi:** Several reviewers asked that _exact_ question about Jen and Danny; I'm extremely glad you can see where I'm coming from. People are complicated.

**apAidan:** I'm envisioning Nyarlathotep here in a "bringer of madness" aspect. Interesting side note: he's the entity who first taught humans how to split their souls (and we all saw what _that_ did to Moldy Voldy).

**Gruffard:** Padfoot (not Sirius, per se) was scared because Jen's smile was rather predatory. Just goes to show that his dog side is smarter than he is :)

**The Mad Mad Reviewer:** Yep, Luna's got a crush, not that she's really figured it out yet.

**Just so you know, there's a timeskip of several weeks between the second and third scenes. Also, for everyone who has commented on Jen's "understated sexuality", it's not **_**quite**_** so subtle here.**

**Disclaimer:** Cheating was said to be a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament, yet did any of the champions steal ideas from one other? If not, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.

* * *

**Chapter 24  
****Aggressive Negotiations**

The new layout of the room was the first thing Jen noticed as the Triwizard contestants entered the Great Hall. Where once there had been four long tables for each house, now there were over fifty round ones seating ten to twelve students each. Enchanted snow replaced the banners overhead. A long table stood against one wall and carried crystal bowls, likely for refreshments once the dancing started. The only element of the decor that remained was the staff table running widthwise at the back of the room, though not even that was completely unchanged thanks to the row of chairs along the front.

McGonagall led them between the tables, allowing those students seated in the middle of the Hall a better examination of their champions. _That's right, stare_, Jen thought with some amusement. She had originally felt her dress was just a _hair_ too ostentatious to be in good taste; from the admiring thoughts it provoked, she owed Moira Tattings an apology. She gave sultry smiles to a few in the audience who were especially complimentary, pleased with the attention. It was a fact of human nature that people were more likely to trust and obey those they considered attractive, so looking gorgeous could not hurt to elevate her in her contemporaries' opinions.

Beauty, sex, curses, courtesy, poison, charm, prejudices, ethics; all powerful tools in skilled hands and used in the right way. Seven years she had spent diligently learning to wield them from a master of the craft. Her hands were skilled.

She sat gently in the chair Zabini pulled out for her at the staff table. Some spots had already been filled by faculty or guests, if the pompous young man a few seats down and on the other side was any indication. Upon prompting, he proudly introduced himself as Percy Weasley, an older brother of the Weasley Twins and Potter's male friend who worked as a personal assistant to Crouch. Apparently, the judge had come down with a mild bug in the last few days and therefore could not attend.

_Let's hope that's the case and him being ill around the winter solstice is just a coincidence_, Jen thought as she ignored the slip of stiff parchment beside her plate and ordered the same meal as Cedric, a baked fish entree. _It's either that or Crouch secretly dabbles in white magic, in which case I'm fucked. A white wizard high up in the government and able to point a finger at me is the __**last**__ thing I need._

She took a small bite of her dinner and forced herself to relax. The idea of being hunted down by a group of white mages like Elsie had been before emigrating to Britain was not one she wanted to entertain very long. _I don't think I have to worry about that too much, though; those arts should leave just as great a mark on his magic as Voodoo does on my own, but I did not notice anything strange about him, nor has he been brought to my attention. Not even the lauded Albus Dumbledore with his blasted phoenix uses white magic, so I doubt I'll run across one for a long while, if ever._

_And I __**really**__ hope I didn't just jinx myself there._

To pull herself from her conjured worries, she engaged Weasley in conversation about his work. Most of it was dreadfully dull, focusing on cauldron bottom thickness regulation of all things, but his mind was a treasure trove of useful information on the inner mechanics of the Ministry. Surely he would not mind her lifting some of it; it wasn't like he would ever know she had been in there. Besides, knowledge was a weapon, too. Shortly after she had become bored, Ludo Bagman unwittingly came to her aid as he dragged the reluctant older boy into a vigorous discussion he was having with Karkaroff about Quidditch. Rejecting the offer of dessert — in her experience, tense situations and sweets did not go well together, and her upcoming discussion with Zabini was making her _very_ anxious — she surveyed the other competitors and their companions.

One of her housemates, Roger Davies, had lucked out in escorting the castle's resident wet dream, also known as Fleur Delacour. Unfortunately, it seemed that he also had a weakness to the Veela's Allure. Taking pity on him and his date both, she surreptitiously flicked a finger in his direction and erected the same mental barrier charm against seductive auras that she was currently enjoying. He almost instantly became more lucid, and she smiled to herself. There were occasions she felt like performing a good deed or two; doing so while keeping Davies from further embarrassing Ravenclaw House was a bonus indeed.

In another example of strange bedfellows, the taciturn Viktor Krum had brought Granger as his date. _She has to be shagging him; there is just no other way a world-famous sports star would choose to escort such an irritating and vanilla girl._ She paused and thought over her last statement again. _Then again, that he __**did**__ perhaps means she isn't as bland as I presume. There is a phrase about quiet ones and their kinks for a reason, after all, and she would have to be __**quite**__ delectable to outcompete his innumerable other fans._ She tipped her goblet at the bookish Gryffindor. _Well played_.

The junior champions for Durmstrang and Beauxbatons were joined by fellow students from their respective schools, and Cedric was with yet another Lion, one by the name of Bell. It was the younger girl sitting next to Potter, however, who really caught her attention. Even blind, she noticed the absolute adoration the child showered upon him. Curious, Jen brushed against her mind.

She was utterly shocked at the state of little Ginny Weasley's mental shields, and Luna's description of telepathic probes as voracious worms came to the forefront of her thoughts. The girl had possibly been learning Occlumency at one point if the remnants of additional defenses were any indication, but that was all they were: crumbling remains, like castle walls left to the ravages of centuries in the elements without upkeep. Her main barrier, while still standing, was riddled with holes; the best analogy would be porous cheese or an empty honeycomb. The wounds were small but plentiful, leaving her incredibly vulnerable to mind reading, geas, possession, or many other forms of manipulation.

Diving deeper, to Weasley's thoughts and memories, Jen found the unmistakeable signs of tampering. Someone with little talent and even less experience had been tromping through the girl's mind, though not recently judging by the healing edges of her memories. Interestingly, a large portion of them were clumped together around a single point. Jen took one metaphorical glance at that center and laughed loud and hard in the security of her own mind. _Oh Potter, you've got your own obsessed stalker pining after you! Chance are she either fainted or creamed herself when you asked her to attend on your arm. Maybe you shouldn't have been so _'dashingly heroic, like a knight from a fairy tale'_ when you saved the little damsel in distress._ Pulling herself out of Weasley's mind, she smiled to herself. This had all sorts of amusing potential in the next few years, especially if she took advantage of the situation. _Perhaps I could even give the child some… professional advice._

At last, Dumbledore had the student body stand and swept the tables to one corner of the room with a wave of his wand. Moving with the other champions to the center of the hall, she laid one hand on Zabini's shoulder and with the other held his own to the side. Conversationally, she said, "I have no idea how much experience you have dancing, but I assure you that I will not be pleased should you spend all night standing on my toes."

"My lady, you wound me. I learned to dance at the same time I learned to walk," he returned. The band on stage struck up a formal piece, and she followed his lead. "If anything, I hope you do not embarrass _me_ with a lack of ability or an urge to take charge."

She giggled coquettishly. "So long as you keep a firm hand, I dare say I will not run too wild." _Until, of course, you come to the water's edge, where you will find you have been riding not a mare but a kelpie._

Unaware of her darker thoughts, he smirked and twirled her about. The song ended only for a faster one to take its place. For the next half-hour, Jen went where Zabini guided her, enjoying the music and the motion as she had not since an all-too-brief stint writhing around a pole on Candyland's stage several years ago. He eventually asked, "Do you want to take a break?"

"Yes, that would be great right now," she answered breathlessly as they left the dance floor and passed by the table laden with punch bowls for a drink. "Would you care to accompany me outside?"

"Why not?"

The rose garden, cultivated specifically for this ball, was a blissfully quiet place. They wandered through the hedges to a secluded corner a respectable distance from the castle. Drawing her blank wand, Jen cast silencing and avoidance charms around them. "That should give us privacy, don't you think?"

"Very much so." He came up behind her, but she slipped away to the other side of the area. "Don't worry, there's no need to be shy. I understand how you feel. I'm more than happy to give you _everything_ you desire."

_So he has been trying to plant suggestions into my head, after all? Too bad for him I can protect myself from his influence._ "Do you plan to eat me, little incubus?" she whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear.

"Only if you really want me to." She could tell when her words actually penetrated by the sudden shift in his expression and emotions. "What did you just call me?"

"Did you not hear? Incubus, hungry seducer, Lilith's son, need I go on?"

He shook his head sadly and loosened the collar and cuffs of his dress robes. "I'm sorry you had to find out about that. You were a wonderful dancer; I'll do you the favor of making it quick." With a single bound he was upon her, but Jen's hand was already up. A twist of power flung him away with a howl.

Hovering in front of her palm was a swarm of burning-hot discs of energy spinning rapidly around a common center and making a quiet, high-pitched buzz. Invented by a now-canonized witch — not that the Vatican knew _that_ — St. Agnes's Rings was one of the few spells that harmed solely incubi, though it could not kill them without extended contact. She realized a moment before he could pick himself up that she was advertising her wandless magic; thinking quickly, she conjured a tin sheath around her upper arm. Tin was by no means the best material for enchanting, but it was easier to conjure because of that and could be mistaken for many other metals that were. The inconsistencies were even harder to spot after she applied a disillusionment charm, one that she altered on the fly to fade different segments in and out of visibility. If it looked like the spell in her hand was interfering with the disillusionment, he should assume the armlet was a secondary focus that she had been hiding all night.

Zabini at last clambered to his feet. He lowered his hand from his face and neck, allowing her to feel the scorched lacerations with her sonar. A moment passed, and the burned tissue flaked off, replaced by new stretches of soft, whole skin. He turned his head to her and froze, then he ground out, "_Cacciatrice_, I should have known."

"What?" Jen asked in confusion. It was almost certainly Italian, but she had never studied the language. _Perhaps I would have had I known I would be taking on exceedingly dangerous beings from that country._ "What did you say?"

"What do you want, you damn bitch?" he demanded. She could feel his body tightening up for another attack, his mind filling with fiery hate.

_Oh, Cissy, you owe me __**big**__ for putting up with this brat._ She knew how dangerous incubi were and had no plans to wind up as a midnight snack. With this in mind, she had initially devised a fairly straightforward plan: discuss the benefits of him not feeding on the students for as long as was feasible, and when he inevitably attacked her, kill him in self-defense. Her aunt, however, had focused on the long game. His mother was just as politically powerful as Tracey had said, so making an enemy or a corpse out of a potential ally when Jen was more than capable of restraining him non-lethally was a waste of a resource.

To that end, a new plot was hatched between the two schemers. A civil discourse was still the preferred option, but she was told in no uncertain terms to do her best to keep him calm and get him to agree to hunt elsewhere. While she had successfully argued to keep the option of ending him on the table, it was downgraded from part two of Plan A to Plan C. Plan B was threatening him, which she had to admit had a chance of working if she found an exploitable weakness.

Regardless of her expectation that he would become violent and belligerent, the speed with which he had done so surprised her slightly. According to Elsie, who had a great deal of knowledge of them backed by over a century of personal experience, incubi and succubi generally considered humans little more than cattle, not surprising considering they were predators and people were their prey. From such a perspective, anger at her protests was somewhat understandable. If a chicken fought against her eating it, she would be displeased as well. That said, she also did not hide among poultry, nor was her strength on that level; the same did not hold true for sexual vampires. It would have been far more sensible for him to listen to listen to her at least a little before attempting to kill her.

When dinner could fight back, patience was the hunter's greatest weapon.

_The only explanation that makes sense is that he saw how easily his mother got away with her excesses and became arrogant because of it. After all, if he has been told all his life that humans are too stupid to realize what he is, even with a string of dead stepfathers and that healing factor for all the world to see, why would he ever think to be careful?_ Moderating her tone to be diplomatic — she _did_ see the benefit of starting with the new Plan A, after all — she said, "Nothing much, just a quick talk."

"About?"

"Your dining habits." She twirled her wand and conjured a stone bench on which to sit. "Specifically, where and on whom you sate your appetite."

He stepped forwards in an attempt to be menacing but halted when she raised her left hand again, the Rings still active. "And why should I listen to _you_? Stop that bloody spell and we'll see how you fare."

She mentally huffed in exasperation but with an effort kept it off her face. _Why can't this __**idiot**__ figure out that he's no longer top of the food chain?_ "Your negotiating skills need some work. We both know that there are undoubtedly people here able to recognize this spell and understand what your resulting wounds would mean; the Headmaster cum Chief Warlock, for instance. Not only would you be outed, your mother would as well." She leaned back slightly, trying to force a sense of calm on him, but his anger burned too fiercely for it to take. "However, that would cause inconveniences in my life as well, and I'd rather avoid them entirely. If we are being honest with each other, I want us to come to a simple, peaceful agreement that leaves both of us happy."

"So it's starve or you'll reveal me to the world, is it? Or I could get rid of you now and deny any knowledge of what happened."

She sighed again at his bullheadedness. "You aren't listening to a word I say, are you? I am _not_ saying that you can't feed. My main concern is _where_ you feed. An incubus running hither and yon without care for the consequences of his actions is not good for _anyone's_ life expectancy; not mine, not my friends', and definitely not yours. What happens when the DMLE inevitably hears about a number of corpses piling up here? Your mother does not wield nearly enough influence to stop them, and Slytherin house could not survive an Auror investigation."

_Nor could I if they moved too fast for me to send Loki away with my ritual kit. Death Foci aren't something that can be explained away; merely possessing one means ten years' vacation in sunny Azkaban, and that's without them finding some way to make Veritaserum work on me, which they eventually would given the motivation. Practicing the Black Arts is the only crime Britain still sends people through the Veil for. I would prefer not shaking hands with Death for a long, long time._

"What I propose is this: I keep my silence about your nature, which insures your House against persecution, and in return you hunt away from the castle and its students. Hogsmeade is fine, though it would be in your own best interest to feed and kill farther afield. Beyond that, we can ignore each other. I would want a vow on this, obviously." A vow that he could not break. Unlike humans, an incubus's magic was essential to his continued existence; losing it would immediately kill him.

He schooled his expression and nodded. "That would be eminently acceptable." He pulled his wand and raised it skywards.

_Odd. There is still hatred drifting off him, but it is tempered with… amusement? What could have caused __**that**__ emotion?_ Gliding through his shields, still weakened by anger, she eavesdropped on his surface thoughts.

"_Fine then, I'll hunt away from the castle. As soon as summer arrives, I think I'll visit Davis in her dreams, and then, when she's __**desperate**__ to ride me in real life, I'll meet up with her and drain her dry. You think you're so clever, but how will you handle your friend's death on your conscience? Even better, I can look up your family, too; __**they**__ aren't in Hogwarts. You'll regret your presumptuous pride, food."_

Fury burned inside her thick and hot, molten tar flowing through her heart. _You little bastard. If only you weren't worth more alive than dead…_ "Ah, just so we're clear," she added in a voice far too casual to be believed, "my family and friends are off limits at all times, obviously. This should go without saying, as enraging someone who can cut you to pieces before wrecking your family is generally a bad idea, but it never hurts to be upfront. We don't want any… _misunderstandings_ to sour our deal, do we?"

He screeched like a gigantic bat and rushed her again. Waiting until he was almost within reach to leap off the bench, she whipped the hand holding her wand through the empty space on her right, forcing his arms to fly outwards, then thrust the Rings into his chest. When was again in the air, she swung her right hand towards the ground; his body followed with a dull thud. "I have the means to destroy you. If you insist on giving me a motive, I'm not sure I'll be able to resist the temptation."

Twisting around, he finally stretched out enough to glare at her. "I'll kill you! I'm an incubus; you're just a meal! Threaten all you want, you can't stop me! I'll eat your entire family!"

_Dammit, Cissy, why did you convince me not to just kill him? An alliance with his mother can __**not**__ be worth this much trouble. _"You are groveling in the dirt, yet you still think you are invincible? Typical teenager. Give me the vow, and I'll let you leave with your body intact, if not your pride."

"You can't hold me here forever. A teacher will come by, you'll have to let me go, and then I'll rip you apart until there's nothing left!"

She laughed mockingly. "A pitiful threat. Even _if_ you succeed in killing me, my family will realize what you did. Since I've already told them what you and _your_ family are, you'll be joining me beyond the Veil soon enough."

"Let them come. A few snacks can't hurt me," he sneered.

_That's the third time you've threatened us. Forget an alliance between our Houses; you're a dead man walking._ Diving into his memories, she quickly found a perfect chink in his armor. She stepped to the wall of hedges beside them, intentionally turning her back on the boy. "Your sisters are all very pretty." She felt him become still as a statue under the magic pining him to the ground. "Teresa is downright adorable. She's only, what? Two, three? I _shudder_ to think what could happen if the Committee for the Disposable of Dangerous Creatures gets ahold of her. Or worse, do you suppose the Unspeakables would want to study a succubus while she is still too young to pose a risk to them? I give her five years before she's nothing more than their broken pet, a dog who wags her tail at their approach and considers a slightly lesser beating to be a sign of utmost affection.

"_That_ is what will happen should I show the world what you are. It's not just you you place in danger with your reckless disregard for discretion; you do so to your mother and four sisters as well. How will you handle their deaths on your conscience?" she asked, quoting his own thoughts back to him. _There's a reason not to slaughter him outright, I guess; I would have to reveal their natures if I wanted to stay out of Azkaban. Killing little kids, even indirectly, leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I'd much rather not do it again while there are other options available to me._

Fear had mixed with the anger flowing off of him and now overwhelmed the previous emotion. "Threatening children? That's heartless, even for monsters like you."

"_Excuse me?"_ she whispered. She may indeed be a monster, but he had no grounds to call her such; she was being exceedingly kind to him considering his belligerent attitude. The last dregs of her patience used up, she stalked forwards and swiped at his face with her left hand, leaving shallow furrows that quickly healed over. _That's the best part about this spell: no lasting marks. I could keep this up all night if I wanted._ "I am done tolerating your baseless impudence. Take my offer or have your family die; I do not care which. This is your last chance."

"Fine, I'll make the bloody vow," he growled. An aura formed around him. "I, Blaise Zabini, give my word not to hunt within the walls of Hogwarts so long as Jen Black does not reveal what I and my family are. So mote it be."

"No." The gossamer-fine nimbus of energy collapsed with a near-inaudible pop, and he gaped at her. "Include that you and your family will never harm me, my friends, or _my_ family, or I'll gladly out you in front of several Ministry employees and demand a front-row seat to your mother's and sisters' executions."

He repeated the oath with the additional wording, and this time she affirmed it. The aura wrapped around him and was absorbed. "I, Jen Black, vow not to reveal to anyone that Blaise and his family are incubi and succubi so long as they do not attempt to strike against me or mine and so long as he does not feed on the inhabitants of Hogwarts. So mote it be."

"So mote it be."

The magic surrounding her struggled for a moment and then vanished. Because she did not possess a magical core, vows and contracts could not bind her. _Don't think this is over, brat. I will not forget your words._ She would be watching for an opportunity to kill him while either distancing herself from the crime or hiding his body, and as soon as such a chance came, she'd make him pay for threatening her family. She already had the means and motive.

_In fact, why don't I let him take care of that for me?_ She stepped back and let the boy up. "I'm glad we understand each other now, Zabini. Toddle off."

He snarled and turned away from her, exceptionally foolish in retrospect. He never saw the spell that hit him from behind and knocked him unconscious. Smirking, she slid inside his mind. Vows could rarely create complications when modifying memories, but she took the chance, removing their conversation and making him think she had informed him that they simply wouldn't work as a couple. Unhappy, he decided to leave as forcing himself on the heiress of an Ancient and Most Noble House was just begging for trouble; besides, it was not like he found her _that_ attractive. There were plenty of other girls to pursue.

Now she simply had to wait. Provided the charm held, he would try to seduce a student within the next couple of months and die instantly when his magic was ripped away. Even better, no one would connect it to her; the only people who knew she was going to confront him tonight were Tracey, Sirius, Cissy, and Andi, all four of whom had promised to keep that information to themselves. When he did snuff it, the girl he took on a single date and then showed no subsequent interest in, nor her in him, would be near the bottom of the suspect list.

She vanished the metal around her left arm and the bench, then stood him upright. _Didn't I do this same thing to Potter a month ago? No wonder I feel a sense of déjà vu._ Double-checking quickly for anything she might have missed, she re-fastened his cuffs and collar and dispelled the Rings. As soon as she brought him back to reality, he turned to her, false sorrow oozing from every pore. "And you're _sure_ you don't want to see where this leads us?"

Plastering a weak smile on her lips, she shook her head. "I'm sorry. It's best we just move on. Don't worry, though, I'm sure you'll be able to find some other girl in the castle who is right for you." He walked off, and her expression of sympathy became one of unholy glee.

_You shouldn't have threatened us, _kochma_. The Black family has many informal mottos, but one is particularly appropriate here: we fight fair only when there is no other choice, and even that isn't guaranteed. My friends are safe, Zabini's days are numbered, and I have a full _poupe lavi_ for the rest of the Tournament. Not bad for a few minutes' work._

She waited until he was out of her sonar's range before she made her way back to the castle. At ten, the music became more frenetic, spiked punch was passed around freely, and the party got a little crazy.

* * *

There were several problems with being blind. Among other things, Jen could not read, recognize people when they were silent, stay on a regular sleep cycle, or distinguish between images. Though her magic, specifically her sonar, let her get around some of these obstacles, numerous disadvantages remained.

The morning after the Yule ball, however, she discovered one of the few good things about not being able to see. Early morning sunlight could not exacerbate her hangover.

She groaned as she was dragged kicking and screaming from Morpheus's sweet grasp. Immediately silencing her ears and suppressing her pain receptors as best her pounding headache would allow, she stretched out her sixth sense to feel her surroundings. _Two older boys in bed with me, which explains why I'm so sore, my dress is on the floor, I don't recognize any of this furniture, and my bedmates aren't the only guys here. Where the bloody hell am I?_ Casting back into her fuzzy memory, she finally recalled what happened. _Oh, yeah, they're seventh year Hufflepuffs. Baron guide me, but I need to avoid drinking that much again. I'm no good to anyone, especially not myself, if I'm completely pissed._

Not that she was complaining about the outcome; it had been over a year since she had had enjoyable sex. Thirteen was too old for the people who frequented Candyland, and Hutchins, the owner, liked his women fully ripened. By the time the last of their clients were gone, the other employees were all too tuckered out to do more than a half-hearted job at best. She had thought multiple times about seducing an older student, but that would require memory charms all around to avoid being reported by a do-gooder witness or her partner after the fact. Should she miss someone, bad things could happen. If even a decent snog was prohibited, the impression she received from the faculty's broom cupboard raids, getting caught mid-shag was a definite no-no.

_Then again, a few wards, a little deception, and maybe mucking with people's thoughts a bit would make it that much less risky, especially if I limit myself to once every week or two and take a different partner each time. I __**really**__ miss sex._

_Speaking of mind-fuckery…_ She flicked her fingers out, removing all memories of her presence from the people in the room, then levitated one of the previous night's companions to an empty bed. Another wave of magic healed her abused flesh from the previous night's exertions, though her customary — and redundant, she knew — check revealed that yes, her hymen was still gone. After the first few times proved the spell restored _everything_ in the region she was healing, she had used dark magic to curse that annoying bit of membrane and all the — at the time, downy — hair below her neck away permanently. The other girls at Candyland who hit puberty the same time she did had been jealous that she never needed to bother with razors.

Scooping her dress up, she spelled herself invisible and inaudible, then made her way out of the Badgers' Den. It was a good thing she had informed her family that she would be spending the night here; she had plenty of time left for a relaxing soak before her return to London.

* * *

Ingrid looked over her letter once again. She had not originally planned to spy on her competitors, instead trusting in her own skills to improvise, but her — benefactor? healer? biggest fan? — had asked her to relay as many of the other champions' dueling strategies as possible. After watching those she could, she was rather glad he had pressed her into doing so; she had found herself plotting swift counter-offensives in her spare time, short plans that she could pull off while still leaving herself some flexibility in her own attacks. She could _feel_ her debt to him growing.

With a tap of her wand, she translated the writing on the parchment to English.

_Sir,_

_I hope this finds you in good fortunes. As you requested, I have observed the other champions as much as I could. Since the duels are next Saturday, I hope you still have enough time to place your wagers._

_Viktor received his device only a week after the Task was announced, though exactly what it is he has kept secret. From the state of the forest where he practices, I believe it acts as a secondary focus for some type of explosive spell; _Reducto, Confringo,_ something along those lines. Combined with his overall physique, he will almost certainly be the most dangerous competitor._

_Diggory was easier to observe than my own schoolmate, as strange as that may sound. He apparently liked Black's strategy for the last Task and has been practicing with a voice-controlled golem. It did not look very effective, far too slow to pose much of a threat._

_Leroux is supposedly a trained fencer, and asking the right questions and overhearing the right people leads me to think he will be using a rapier, possibly coated with a mild poison according to one person._

_As for myself, my family has a number of secondary foci we inherited, including several staves. I will be using one that lets me manipulate air…_

She frowned; her training with the wind rod was not going as well as she wished. Staves needed to be planted in the ground and kept there so they could use wild magic to augment the wielder's own power. Unfortunately, her tool of choice still required more of her magic than even the strongest spell with her wand, and it was too bulky and off-balance for close combat. The more she went over her plan, the more she thought she had made a mistake, but there was not enough time left to make a completely new strategy.

Of course, she couldn't come right out and _tell_ him that. Her father, upon learning that some mysterious wizard had given her back the ability to walk, had essentially demanded she stay on her savior's good side. _'You are a pretty young woman,'_ he had said, _'and this man has taken enough of a liking to you to go out of his way and let you walk again when everyone else said it was impossible. To be able to do that means he must be a talented Healer; if you can build a rapport with him, we may even be able to negotiate a marriage contract for you. Healers are among the richest and most respected members of our society, and with his obvious power added to that? I cannot think of a better match for you, even if it means you must stay here in Britain rather than come home.'_

Much as she disliked the idea, there _wasn't_ a better match. Her prospects were fairly poor due to the Eberhardts' lack of money, so finding a Healer who had expressed an interest in her was a boon. She needed to keep his eyes on her until her father could locate him and have a face-to-face meeting.

…_so I should be able to keep my opponents at a distance, even throw them around the arena._

_I tried my hardest, but I could not discover what Black, Delacour, or Potter were planning. I doubt the two youngest competitors will be much of a challenge, however. The Veela is the only real question._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Ingrid Eberhardt_

Smiling, she tied the note to her pet barn owl. "Take dis to Herr Joseph Bloggs-Vhitaker, Isolde." The owl nodded once and flew silently out the window. _I should practice some more with the staff while I have time. There is not long left until the duels._

* * *

Jen pulled her fingers off Eberhardt's missive with a grin. The Gringotts-affiliated post exchange was quite a boon for de-spelling and redirecting letters; Elsie had set up the Bloggs-Whitaker account years ago, and it had passed to her when her mentor died. It also allowed those outside the magical world, such as her former co-workers, to keep in touch with her via the Muggle post service should they wish. Though there was not much in the way of letters, she _had_ received a Christmas card from them as a group; she hoped they enjoyed the chocolates she had sent in return and did not gorge themselves overmuch.

She tapped her chin with one finger as she thought over what the German girl had told her. A few minutes later, a possibility took root. "Yes, that could work. That's not a bad idea at all. Thanks, little Ingrid; you have no idea how helpful you've been."

* * *

**Jen may have a mind for politics, but she's not a virtuoso just yet. For those who don't know, "Joe Bloggs" is the UK analogue of "John Doe" in America. Next chapter is the wandless duels, I promise!**

**Silently Watches out.**


	25. Are You Ready to Rumble?

**Kyren:** Funny you should relate this story to _The Dresden Files_… Yes, Nicodemus would love to have someone like Jen as a Denarian, and she and Lasciel would get along like a house on fire.

**Deathnoteuser:** Lady Zabini will very much not be happy, but how in the world is she going to know who's responsible? It's not like those who know will tell her.

**skywiseskychan:** I'm glad you enjoyed so much of last chapter! Jen's career as a dancer was short because she pulled in greater revenue on her back; many more clients wanted to sleep with her than just watch her. Oh, you will get to see her chat with Ginny if the plot goes that route, don't worry. She only had sex with the two Hufflepuffs in bed with her; the others were too drunk to notice or care. She was _most definitely_ the aggressor.

**Orchamus:** I don't know exactly how Ingrid would react if she ever found out that "Joseph Bloggs-Whitaker" is Jen, but I'm sure it would be amusing.

**Disclaimer:** Was a Dueling Club only ever formed in book 2 by Flophart, even though Flitwick was a former professional duelist? If so, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.

* * *

**Chapter 25  
****Are You Ready to Rumble?**

_Flip, flip_. "No."

_Flip, flip._ "No."

_Flip, flip, flip._ "Damn it, why can't there be a bloody index in this bloody book?!"

_Knock, knock_.

"What?!" Jen yelled in frustration, pulling her hand off the floating textbook she had been 'skimming'. She only had an hour before she needed to be present at the arena in the Forbidden Forest for the Slytherin Task, and every moment lost was a moment she did not have to complete her last minute preparations.

There was a pregnant pause, and then Luna's voice came hesitantly from outside her dormitory door. "It's Tracey and Luna. Is it alright if we come in, or… maybe we should just come back later."

_Tracey!_ The Slytherin was in her Runes class; she would be the perfect person to ask. She considered grabbing the shirt laying on her bed but quickly decided it would just be a waste of time. "No, no, it's fine. Come on in."

The wooden door opened slowly, and the two girls poked their heads in. "You're not going to cook us and eat us now, right?" Tracey asked, her voice tinged with humor and a little worry. "'Cause, no offense, but that was definitely _not_ on today's schedule."

"No, I'm not going to eat you. Now get your arses in here and shut the blasted door." Once they had done so, she demanded, "Tracey, which Ogham runes symbolize endurance and speed?"

The other fourth-year was nonplussed for a moment. "Er, ailm and… úath? No, wait, straif. Ailm and straif."

"Of course, _straif_. I always forget that one." Jen snapped her fingers, conjuring strips of titanium and fusing them to create hand-sized replicas of the two troublesome runes. "There, finally. I spent the past half-hour trying to find those buggers."

"That's why I put them in a single table once Babbling introduced them all. When I forget, all it takes is a quick glance and… shite. Sorry."

"It's nothing, don't worry about it."

Still shamed by her faux pas, Tracey crept closer and looked over the five metal runes floating around her. "Muin, luis, saille. Perception, protection from spells, and flexibility?"

"Balance, not flexibility. Close, though." Jen floated the much-vexing primer onto her desk and pulled the luis rune to her left arm, just below the shoulder. Stretching the horizontal bar, she melded the ends together; the closed circle now spun lazily around her bicep, the two short vertical pieces resting at opposite sides. The other four archaic characters moved to orbit her abdomen just above her navel.

"Quick question," Luna piped up. "Could you please explain to the rest of the class exactly what you're demonstrating before you continue?"

The older Ravenclaw smiled in mild amusement, half of her mind still preparing itself for what she was about to do. A minor effort snapped the loose runes into a large circle with herself as the center, and the crosspieces spaced themselves out equidistantly, just as had happened with the luis rune. This 'evenness' aspect of Ogham could sometimes make interpreting scripts difficult without already knowing what they said, something each member of the fourth year class had learned firsthand. "Okay. Has Babbling explained to you why you start out Ancient Runes by learning Futhark?"

"Um, it's an all-purpose language, right? You can use it for just about anything."

"That's right. Wards, enchantments, rituals, bindings; if you need a runic script for something, Futhark will probably work. The issue, though, is that just as it doesn't have any real weaknesses, it doesn't have any strengths. An enchantment you laid down in Norse runes would be faster to create and more potent if you had used Sumerian. Ward schemes would be stronger and deadlier if they were written in Egyptian or Mayan."

Luna nodded as she absorbed the information. "And Ogham?"

Jen snapped her fingers, and the metal runes quickly began to grow warm. Tracey gasped quietly as her plan became clear. "Much to the Roman legionnaires' dismay when they set out to conquer these islands, Ogham is wonderful at enhancing a living creature's natural traits. Warriors bearing these runes were faster, stronger, braver, and harder to injure than the invaders. Combined with iron weapons, knowledge of the terrain, and guerrilla tactics, our forebears were more than a match for the Republic's troops. It was only several smaller tribes rendering Caesar aid and information that allowed him his ultimate victory.

"Unfortunately, there are two little, _tiny_ quirks about this language." She flicked her wrist to erect a silencing charm on the door. After a moment of thought, she expanded the area to cover all six surfaces of the room. It was shortly going to get loud. "First, each body part can only hold so many runes at a time, which is why I have to put one around my arm. Second, they can't just be sewn onto clothes or etched into armor. They need to be directly on the skin."

"Like how the Celts are always depicted as being covered in paint?" Luna asked.

She shook her head and shifted slightly as her bare belly came uncomfortably close to the ring of now _very_ hot metal around her. "No, it has to be permanent. Tattooing works, as does scarring or —"

The third-year's face grew cold as all the blood under it fled in her comprehension. "Burning?" she squeaked.

"Technically it's called branding, but yes." Swallowing thickly as the time arrived, Jen conjured a strip of wool that instantly rolled itself into a tight bundle. "You two might want to turn around and cover your ears."

They moved as if to protest before she stuck the cloth in her mouth and bit down; at that point, they did as requested and twisted away. With a grimace, she clenched her right hand tight, and the two circles of blazing titanium constricted like pythons, pressing the scorching surfaces deep into her skin.

It hurt.

It hurt a lot.

Later, Jen would be glad she conjured the fabric; her high-pitched scream, muffled though it was, was still loud enough to make her friends flinch, though that reaction might also have been due to the pungent smell of sizzling flesh she exuded. If she could have used a numbing charm, she gladly would have and spared herself the agony. The problem was that runes were extremely fragile when they were first applied; any spell on her skin would be disruptive enough to wash them away. Even the flow of her magic as it coursed through her body and back out to the world was pushing the symbols' initial integrity to the limit.

Hours, days, but probably only seconds later, she had had enough. Gasping, she vanished the metal turning her tissues into so much charred meat. She pushed herself off the floor with her uninjured arm, wondering when exactly she had collapsed, and settled herself on her knees. After disposing of the fallen gag, she murmured roughly, "Okay, you can look now."

"Merlin," Tracey whispered as she saw the damage Jen had inflicted on herself. "What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking something along the lines of _'I'm about to face at least two people whose idea of wandless dueling includes hand-to-hand combat; maybe I should come up with a way to not get __**splattered**__ all over the arena floor'_," the brunette shot back testily. One hand moving slowly over the burns on her abdomen, she restored the region enough to quiet the signals from the wound-free tissue but not so much that her painful work would be erased. Once that was done, she repeated the process with the smaller branding on her left arm. She would happily finish the healing after the duels were over, but until then, she needed every edge she could get.

Luna snapped back to reality from whatever corner of her mind to which she had retreated. "Please tell me you know a numbing spell."

"Of course I do. I'm not going to _brand_ myself without knowing how to get rid of the ensuing pain," she replied. A shaky swirl of her hand slowly applied the charm. Concentrating, she raised its strength until the spell began pushing back on the runes' magic. She sighed in relish; it wasn't total relief, but it would do until the runes had fully powered up.

With the pain at least somewhat managed, she pulled on the loose blouse to cover her naked torso. It was probably a good thing the people knocking on her door had both been girls; _she_ didn't have a problem with the boys getting a free show — body modesty wasn't something she valued after several years working on her back — but her female friends likely would have.

Her usual snark returned, Tracey said, "Not that I didn't appreciate the impromptu lesson in how to mark someone like cattle, but couldn't you have used something else to protect yourself, like, say, your _dragonhide jacket_?"

"Oh, yes, I _totally_ forgot about a present I received a month ago and have been wearing every time we had to leave the warmth of the castle. It's not armor; it's just a coat. It may as well be leather for all the good it'll… Leather." She slapped her right hand over her face. "I'm an idiot."

Tracey snickered, and Jen pointed a finger at her menacingly. "You, shut up." She summoned her duster to her and tried to recall the lecture Elsie had once given her. "I just remembered that my tutor, paranoid old woman that she was, had a leather jacket that she enchanted to work somewhat like armor. It wasn't perfect, but it would shrug off knives like they weren't even there. I think I can do something similar."

"There's less than an hour until the Task starts. Can you really enchant that in that little time?" Luna reminded her.

She smirked. "No, I can't, which is why I'm going to cheat."

Not all magic was reliant on power, though there were few disciplines where it didn't help. Every witch could brew potions, care for plants and animals, or carve runes. Something else that anyone could do was perform sympathetic magic, linking two objects together so that a change to one would affect the other, even if they were separated by extreme distances.

Sympathetic magic was a dying art in Britain, but in Haiti, where most people were below average in terms of raw magical potential, it was crucial for more power-intensive feats such as erecting wards. Spells cast on a model of a house, one where each detail was painstakingly recreated in miniature, could be forced to appear on the real thing at a similar scale using solely wild magic from the surroundings. The weakness in the technique was the same as its strength; because the process was based on knowledge rather than force, the two objects had to be as exactly alike as possible. Even a minor difference, such as painting the house's walls a different color, could break the link between them. It also was not unheard of for someone with malicious intent to steal the model and use it to perform wicked deeds upon the inhabitants with a minimum of effort.

While Jen had naturally possessed a larger core than most and then replaced that with a direct connection to the world's reserves, Elsie had still thought it was a good thing for her to learn. The older witch was like that; _'you never know when you'll be glad you can do this'_ had been a common refrain when she was younger and just wanted to be taught something fun. As Jen had gotten older, she realized how right Elsie was.

Increasing the strength of her numbing charms again, she carefully teased out seven hairs from her tresses. _When I channel magic through my body, a third of it moves through my skull and brain before finally exiting by flowing down my hair. Plucking out these hairs does not change them from being part of me._ She matched actions to thought, tugging the strands from her scalp. Closely examining the lengths in her hand with her sonar, she found the thin, hesitant connection from them to the rest of her mane.

Now came the hard part. She focused on that weak link, gently pushing magic through it until it had enlarged to about half the width of her smallest finger. By this point, she could just barely feel the hairs like they were a fifth limb, one that had fallen asleep and was beginning to wake back up. A smile grew, and she laid the kinked strands on the silk lining of her coat. Flicking a finger caused them to slither through the fine fabric before they tied themselves together to form algiz, the Futhark rune for resilience and protection. The lines of the rune were so small that no one would be able to find it without specifically searching.

_My coat is protected and enhanced by the rune. The rune is woven from my hair. My hair is a pathway for my magic. So, the power that before would have run down those hairs and simply dispersed back to the global reserves will instead flow through the connection and power the rune._ Indeed, her magic was acting exactly as she intended; with the larger link, the excess energy had begun charging the rune. In just a few minutes, her coat would be enhanced enough to shrug off moderate impacts and at least minor curses. It would not be as good as Dora's vest, but considering she tried to avoid fair fights whenever possible, it did not need to be.

This shortcut method could not, of course, make products of the same level as true enchanting. While she had surmounted the charging problem by using her hair, the amount of punishment her duster could take before suffering damage was limited by the power held in its lone rune; were this the work of a professional enchanter, there would be a separate reservoir of magic so that the spellwork could not be depleted by a single powerful strike. Thankfully, the processing that diminished the dragonhide's magical resistance and prevented it from functioning as proper armor also meant she could repair any rips and tears it might accrue when she had the time, and the materials used being biological made it a little more effective than its thin width would at first suggest. As another contrast with professional work, the enhancement was not permanent; the rune would start to degrade within six months and would almost certainly collapse before a year had passed.

Still, it was the best she could ask for with the restrictions she was under. Instead of the hours or days creating, testing, and modifying a runic script would require, she had only needed a couple of minutes and a few strands of hair.

She considered leaving the blindfold lying on her bedside table before she levitated her hair and tied in on; there was little reason to abandon it when she could use it to hold a shield charm over her fragile, still-healing eyes. She cast that spell and followed it with a moderate notice-me-not charm before integrating them both into the fabric. Feeling the brands on her body stabilize at last, she reapplied the numbing charms over them at full strength and groaned when the remaining twinges of pain vanished. "That should do it. My body's enhanced, my coat will be tougher by the time the duels start, and my 'alternate focus' is ready to go. I think I'm actually ready."

"You know," Tracey commented, "you never told us exactly what you planned to do in the duels."

"And I won't tell you now, either. I _will_ say, however, that you should enjoy the show."

* * *

"Welcome, welcome, to the Slytherin Task of the Triwizard Tournament!" Ludo Bagman was on top of the world as the crowds cheered around him once again. Sure, they weren't shouting for _him_, but the sound brought him back to his glory days as a Beater for the Wasps just the same. Unnecessarily, he pumped them up further. "Are you ready to see your champions fight it out?!"

The resounding screams were answer enough.

"Well, then, let's get started! The rules are simple: no wands are permitted, though any other method of using magic is acceptable. The duels are over when one participant forfeits, steps off the dueling platform, is rendered unconscious, or the judges call the match. Finally, all magic must stay within the arena, or the fight will be called in the other champion's favor.

"To even the playing field a little for our junior champions, the first duel will be between just two of them. Also, because there are seven champions, we're giving another junior a bye to the second round." He shook his head vigorously. "I'd hate to be the poor junior who has the bad luck to take on a senior for the first round."

He waited for the laughs to stop, disappointed at how few there were, before he drew a silk purse from his pocket. "So, will the junior champions step forwards?" He grinned at each of them, though he had to do a double-take when he spotted Black. The beautiful white coat and air of confidence drew the eye and made her resemble one of the knight-mages from the storybooks he had been read as a child and that he read now to his own son. She looked powerful and awe-inspiring, like she could take on any wild monster or dark wizard that came her way and then continue with whatever she had been doing beforehand.

Wasn't Dumbledore supposed to have worn something similar when he fought Grindelwald? All she needed was a phoenix on her shoulder to complete the picture.

Comparing Black to Danny Potter, Ludo started to wonder if he had put his money on the wrong person. Black had had better odds because she was an unknown, and her showing against the dragon had been much better, too. Danny just wasn't cutting as impressive a figure as the other fourth-year. If only he could change his bet with the goblins…

He shook his thoughts away and opened the neck of the bag. "All right, you four. Go ahead and reach in." He watched as the junior champions each pulled out a small stone: Eberhardt's and Leroux's were blue, Black's red, and Danny's green. "Ingrid Eberhardt and Philippe Leroux will go against each other, and Daniel Potter gets to wait until the second round to duel his first opponent. Black, if you would be so kind as to join the senior champions for a moment?

"Who will these fine fighters be facing first? Let's find out!" With that, he pulled four numbered flags from a different pocket and threw them in the air. The pieces of fabric soared over the duelists and finally came to rest above each one. "And it looks like we have a split on gender lines! Viktor Krum and Cedric Diggory will be the second duel while Jennifer Black and Fleur Delacour are in the third.

"To keep things fair, each champion will stay in their own tent when they aren't dueling. We wouldn't to ruin the surprise of what strategy their opponents will be using, would we? Eberhardt, Leroux, grab your foci; the rest of you, follow these fine mediwizards and -witches to your tents. The first duel begins in five minutes!"

* * *

Jen turned her attention from the book she was reading as a man poked his head into her tent. "It's time for your duel," he said before pulling back out.

Sighing, she replaced her bookmark and set the text on the table next to her chair; Luna had not been lying when she said the unedited fairy tales were dark, though they were certainly entertaining. Moving her hands a couple of inches, she opened a box beside the book. Inside was her prop for the task: a pair of gloves running to her upper arms that she had bought in Muggle London and then festooned with conjured glitter and colored glass to look appropriately gaudy. Now that she would had sleeves coming down to her wrists, she lamented the squandered time and effort involved.

She pulled on the gloves and zipped them closed, then donned her coat. This tent, just like the larger one she had waited in for the Gryffindor Task, had silencing charms all over it; stepping out into the raucous cheers was an unpleasant change after the tranquil quiet. Her opponent was already standing at one end of a raised strip of stone in the middle of the arena, so she hopped onto the other.

"Time for duel number three!" Bagman cried from his seat among the judges. "Can these two witches put on as good a show as their male counterparts? Only one way to find out!"

Taking in the rubble and shallow craters laying about the platform, Jen somewhat doubted this duel would be quite as exciting as the one before them. She shrugged her shoulders and faced Delacour. _There isn't anything on her that is pulling in or storing magic_, she thought as her sonar swept over the older girl. _But then again, Veela don't need a focus for some things. Their Allure for one, but also flight and fireballs. Too bad for her that my coat was fireproof even before I pseudo-enchanted it thanks to it being, well, __**dragonhide**__._

"Begin!"

The French champion wasted no time as she collected magic in her palm. Once a handful of flame appeared, she hurled it at Jen, only for the younger girl to calmly raise an arm in front of her face to intercept. The fire splashed against her sleeve but had no other effect. "Wow, well done," she called out sarcastically. "Here, let me show you how to _really_ use fire as a weapon." A spiraling jet of flame left her hand, and the older girl leapt out of its way.

_What do you know; the rumors were false, after all. Veela apparently __**can**__ be hurt by normal fire._

The next several minutes were filled with the cheers of the crowd and faint whooshes as fireball after fireball flew across the stage from each duelist. Jen was actually enjoying this; though she had lost a couple of inches of hair and suffered a mild burn on her neck when one of her opponent's attacks came too close, that was the worst of her injuries. Delacour had become more and more desperate as the fight went on, which she attributed to the foreign witch not having a backup plan.

_Time to wrap this up._ "Not that this isn't fun or anything, but we really should finish our little spat so I can get to my next duel." Icy water rushing at her fellow competitor caught both the other girl and the audience by surprise. Jen smirked; it wasn't her fault if everyone had assumed she was limited to fire. Though she was perfectly capable of wielding any spell she wished without a wand, she had decided to restrict herself to purely elemental spells to start. It was a limited field, true, but it could believably be controlled with a single focus and still provided her a good degree of flexibility in her tactics.

"_Petite salope! Je __**déteste**__ me mouiller! Vous voulez jouer avec les grandes filles? Jouons!"_

She chuckled at that; Delacour had not evaded the spray, leaving her dripping and cursing in her native tongue. While she had never learned French, she suspected the diatribe was the result of this incredibly prideful entity of air and fire being reduced to little more than a drowned rat. Feeling the trail of water leading to the soaked Frenchwoman, she grinned wickedly. _Perfect_. She raised her hands, and a thick spark jumped from one glove to the other.

From the way the Veela froze in place, Jen knew she had noticed the discharge. She tilted her head down to examine herself and slowly raised it, obviously tracing the long wet streak and realizing what was about to happen. In a soft, nigh-resigned tone that could only be heard due to the silence from the observers, she said, _"Ah, merde."_

"Goodbye, so long, _orevwa_."

Twin bolts of lightning hit the watery road, raced along its course, and struck the young woman. With an explosive crack, Delacour went flying before slamming into the ground ten feet away with a dull thud. Mediwizards had already descended upon her by the time Bagman roused himself from his shocked stupor. "Great Scott! In a finish I don't think any of us expected, Jennifer Black has breezed her way into the second round, where she will be facing the Boy-Who-Lived, Daniel Potter. Let's take a few minutes' break before our next match: Durmstrang against Durmstrang, Krum versus Eberhardt."

She meandered back to her tent, a smile worthy of the Cheshire Cat stretched across her mouth. _Ah, I get to personally take down Potter, too. The Baron has certainly blessed me today._

* * *

Jen stood on one end of the platform, awed by the amount of debris that had been created in the previous match. Eberhardt, forewarned by the research she had done at Jen's behest, had clearly made plans to counter Krum's explosive hexes. The question, though, was had it been enough?

"Daniel Potter has one more minute before his absence is deemed a forfeit and the win goes to Black," Bagman called after checking his watch. The man radiated irritation, an emotion echoed in the crowd's murmurs. Jen did not blame them, as she felt the same; whether sitting or standing, wasting time out here in the cold was not fun.

Thirty seconds later, Potter ran out of his tent to the platform, and she understood what had taken him so long. A number of pouches dangled from his belt and robes; unlike the other champions she knew about, he had apparently taken a 'disposable item' strategy. _Which means either charmed objects or potions. He is friends with the Weasley family, and Kenneth has complained about the prankster twins enough for me to know potions are their weapons of choice. Isn't Lily Potter supposed to have a deft hand for brewing, as well?_

"Just in time, Potter. Are both duelists ready?" She nodded to the former Quidditch star; Potter straddled the broom he had carried in his left hand before repeating the gesture. "Begin!"

Her opponent kicked off the broken stage, rapidly ascending to a height of thirty feet. Not wanting to be under him when he started dropping his payload, she hurled a lance of lightning from each hand, forcing him to swerve away. "I heard your broom was destroyed in the first Task. Do you really wish to risk its replacement so soon?" He did not reply but simply swung around, abandoning the air over the stage so he could move to flank her. Sending a third streak of electricity at him as she cautiously backed towards the middle of the stone strip, she muttered, "Surely that counts as leaving the platform."

Bagman's voice rang out, "I've just spoken with the judges, and they have decided that Potter riding his broom _will_ be allowed so long as his feet do not touch the ground anywhere other than the dueling platform. He may have the advantage, but it looks like Black plans to make him work for his chance at the win!"

Indeed, once she heard the start of the announcement, she let fly a barrage of high-voltage bolts. Her opponent was forced to dive and dodge lest he join Delacour as a crispy critter. Apprehension poured off him like a waterfall.

_He thought being in the air would keep him safe_, she reasoned. Flying had not crossed her mind, nor had it seemed to occur to any of the other champions if the judges had needed to deliberate on his tactics. Had he counted on everyone else's strategy relying on close-quarter engagements? If so, she would give him points for his planning, not that it would do him any good in the end.

Her thoughtful pause presenting him with a chance, Potter shifted slightly out of the way of one strike and yanked something out of a pouch. As he threw it at her, she noticed it was, of all possible things, a water balloon. Deciding she would rather not find out what it contained, she struck it with yet another blast of lightning only to discover she had done exactly what he wanted. The energy popped the balloon, vaporizing the contents, and the cloud spread out before settling on top of her. Jen held her breath as she was surrounded; her lack of a magical core meant she was unaffected by ingestible potions, but she had no idea if she would be protected similarly from an aerosol considering she could use topical potions. A stinging on her face indicated that regardless of the core issue, breathing this in would be bad. Instead of enduring the surface burns and waiting for the acidic mist to thin out enough for her to no longer be at risk, she spun one finger. A brisk breeze sprang into existence, and the vapors swirled around her in a cyclone with her at the eye. After taking a fresh lungful of air, she grinned mirthlessly. _Here, have a taste of your own medicine_. The wind sped up and aimed at her competitor, releasing the potion in his direction.

Once the gas was gone, she ceased the spell. A thin layer of grit, fragmented debris from Krum's duels, dropped back to the ground.

She tilted her head, inspiration striking her. As Potter approached for a second attempt, she raised her hand to the sky and replicated her spell on a greater scale. This time, it was not a swift wind that was created but a tornado, one growing ever stronger as she fed more power to it.

Dust, rock, and another two potion clouds whipped around her as the twister widened. Judging it to be enough, she flicked her wrist to point at the broom-bound boy. The entire mass of violent air turned and engulfed him before continuing into the wall below the frontmost row of seats. Allowing the thuds of debris hitting flesh to sound for a few seconds, she snapped her fingers; the storm instantly vanished. Amazingly, Potter's broom was undamaged, though the same could not be said for him personally. He fell to the dirt, transformed into what felt like an enormous slug. From the conflicting magical signatures covering him, she surmised that many of his balloons had burst when the rocks struck the pouches carrying them, and potions that should not have been mixed were.

_Well, at least he cannot complain about his current shape __**too**__ much. His soft form is probably the only reason he is not laying on the ground with multiple broken bones. That's not to say he won't be spending another week in St. Mungo's, though._

"As Potter is unable to continue the duel, the win goes once again to Black, and another competitor is being carried away! Neither Black or Krum have left their opponents standing; whose streak will be broken? I see that Krum has begun making his way to the platform, so the question will soon be answered."

_Already?!_ Jen shook her head; they certainly were not giving her time to regroup. _It's a damn good thing I don't have a core anymore; after throwing around that much magic, I'd run the risk of being completely empty without at least a few minutes to rest._

She stood firm as the senior Durmstrang champion plodded into the arena and onto the stage. The thick sleeveless robes that exposed his bulky arms were charmed with protective magic of a comparable strength to her coat, and his right hand was covered by a copper shell connected to an elbow-length bracer of what felt like a nickel-zinc alloy, both component metals known for their ability to store large amounts of raw magic. Even thirty feet away, the truly insane charge it held was almost enough to send strands of her hair floating. He gave her a stiff, curt nod, and she replied by pulling out the sides of her duster and descending in a parody of a curtsy; the action startled a strangled laugh from the man. Their opening taunts completed, they stood at attention, waiting for the signal to start the final match.

"Both competitors are ready? Yes? Begin!"

In the previous duels, Jen had let her competitors lash out first so she could try to discern their strategies. Thanks to the letter from Eberhardt she received the previous week and the damage done to the platform, she already had an idea of what Krum was capable, and she had no interest in standing around while the wizard in front of her aimed explosions her way. Flinging a fireball from her left hand and a lightning bolt from her right, she crossed to the other side of the thin platform. Ten feet was not a lot of space to maneuver, but staying in one place now would be worse.

Krum moved as well, diving to the ground to avoid her attacks. When he rose, he had in his grasp a chunk of debris that was not blown away by her earlier attack on Potter. Holding it up with his left hand, he pulled back his right and punched the stone with his metal-enveloped fist. Rather than disintegrate as she had expected, it shot forwards like a round from a cannon.

Only a half-reflexive summoning of wind deflected the stone from its trajectory; though it scratched her coat, at least it did not rip through her body. _The damage Ingrid saw when she examined his practice grounds wasn't the result of an explosive spell_, she realized as Krum punched the platform. It shattered, and he picked up another rock. _It was the aftermath of an extremely powerful banishing charm! If it's strong enough to break up the ground and launch rubble like that, there's no way I want to tangle with him at close range. Throwing ice or debris won't hurt him through those robes, just hand him more ammunition._ She hopped a couple of steps to the side to dodge his next projectile. _He probably won't give me the time I need to build up a strong enough wind to blow him away, either. That leaves me water, fire, and lightning unless I want to break out another 'focus'._

Thrusting her palm out, she conjured a wall of water that crashed into him. His impressive physique bore him through it, and she scrapped her plan to electrocute him as she had Delacour when she noted the robes he wore repelling the moisture. From her outstretched hand came a trio of jagged thunderbolts; one ripped apart Krum's flying rock while the other two forced him to dodge yet again.

Five minutes, ten minutes. Stones were stopped by lightning blasts and fireballs reached their destination only for the target to no longer be there while chips of rock pelted each fighter. As Jen cursed while dodging an attack her counterstroke had missed, Bagman's voice once more broke through her concentration. "This is certainly turning out to be a battle between behemoths, folks! Both Krum and Black have been throwing out massive amounts of magic, but still they fight on. How long can these two champions keep going?"

_Longer than Krum can_. The Bulgarian was slowing down, the ball of static that was his core becoming drained even with his gauntlet's additional reserve and his breath devolving into pants. Not that she was in much better shape; dancing around the flying debris was exhausting. Beyond that, her arms were beginning to spasm uncontrollably. The ceaseless conversion of raw magic to electricity was taking its toll on her nerves and muscles, and she was afraid to examine her hands too closely for fear that her skin had started smoldering. If she could have a chance to flush the spell residue from her system, she'd be right as rain, but the Durmstrang champion refused to let up. Both of them knew that their opponent would capitalize on a single moment of weakness, and neither wanted to lose. _I'd respect the bastard if I didn't want to shove one of these rocks down his gullet_.

"Any chance you want to call it a day and give up?" she shouted to him. Her hands hung limply at her sides and twitched as she forced energy through them to speed up her magic circulation.

He stopped and stared at her for a moment before letting loose a single deep guffaw. "No, I dink I am in goot shape here. Vhy don't _you_ forfeit if you are so tired?"

"No, thanks. There's plenty left in my tank, unlike one pansy man I could name."

"'_Pansy man'_? You mistake me for vun of your veak countrymen. Dis is but a varmup compared to my normal activities." He hefted another rock, one larger than he had been firing since halfway through their duel, revitalized by the break. "Come, let me show you dat Viktor Krum understands stamina."

She bit her bottom lip to keep her comment in, but the attempt was for naught. "I don't know how you do things on the Continent, but in Britain, a girl expects dinner first."

His braying laugh rivaled the collective noise of the tittering crowd, and Jen could feel her aunts shaking their heads, amused despite themselves, near the front edge of the stands. The banter had served its purpose; the power rushing through her body had washed away the lingering charge from her attacks, and a thought undid the damage her constant casting had caused. She knew she had to finish this up quickly, though. Repeated restoration left the injured region of her body resistant to further healing; when that happened, rest was her only recourse, but that was not an option here.

_So far, this has been a battle of attrition. If it continues as such, I'll win, but my arms might wind up useless for a while. Not to mention, I kind of want to beat him outright_, she admitted to herself. _I'm guaranteed the match if I stick with the long game, but in an endurance contest, __**no one**__ is my equal; winning like that says nothing at all about my skills._

_So, play it safe and defend, or take a risk and attack?_

She nodded, her mind made up. It might be her pride talking, but she wanted to stand over Krum and know that she had outmuscled him, not just outlasted him. She held out her hands, truly massive quantities of electricity erupting from them. "Let's do this, pansy man." Her hands flinging forwards, the twin tongues of lightning danced around each other as they flew at her opponent. Krum dived to the ground to escape certain electrocution.

Her firm stance left her unable to avoid the projectile that smashed into her left shin.

Because she had been waiting so long before her duel with Potter, she had completely buttoned her duster to ward off the chill of a Scottish January; the enchantment on the coat redistributing much of the strike's force over her entire body was the only reason her leg did not snap. What remained was, however, enough to throw her leg behind her, and she spun gracelessly before crashing into the platform. The side of her head impacted the unyielding edge of a crater, and for an instant her sonar was jumbled while her hearing was replaced with a dull whine. _Okay, waiting him out was __**definitely**__ the better plan_.

"And it looks like the fight is finally over. Black is on the ground, and… wait, she's not done yet!" Lifting one arm, she had released a torrent of flame at Krum that caught him off guard as he relaxed in the assurance of his victory. "She's getting back up! That girl just _will not stay down!"_

She staggered upright; the balance rune seared into her skin was probably the sole reason she could stand at all. _Forget using only elemental attacks, I can't take another blow to the head like that. I need to take him down __**now**__. How do I send a stunner at him without being obvious about it?_

A memory of charmed razor wire wormed its way to the forefront of her mind. _That's it. If I put the charm on an object and hit him with it, my spell will transfer._ She called the wind with one hand, wrapping herself in a cyclone, and slipped the other into her pocket. Conjuring a hollow glass orb, she charged it with a stunner. _Just like with Potter's balloons, the judges will think the spell was only effective after the shell containing it was broken._

She waited for another rock to hit her wall before dispelling it. Raising the hand holding the charmed glass, she forced the wind to spiral down her arm and continue a few feet in Krum's direction. With the sphere squeezed between her middle fingernail and the pad of her thumb, a simple flick both sent it flying and hit it with the strongest banishing charm she could produce. The swirling air sped it up even further while acting as rifling at the same time, forcing it to maintain a straight line where her wavering arm would have made its trajectory unpredictable. Krum didn't stand a chance; faster than he could react, the fragile ball shattered on his unprotected shoulder. The heavy Bulgarian crumpled.

"I can't believe it, ladies and gentlemen, I just _cannot_ believe it. On her last legs, Black displayed cunning worth of a Slytherin by revealing a _second_ focus! Let's give a cheer for the winner of the Second Task!"

She only managed a brief wave to the screaming crowds; even that minor motion sent her swaying drunkenly. _What's wrong with me?_

"For every match our champions won, we award them ten points. If my calculations are correct, that means that Black has also climbed to first place in the Tournament, but Krum is only six points behind her. Will she keep the lead? Will Krum overtake her? Or will we see yet another shocking upset? We'll find out seven weeks from now, when the champions tackle the Ravenclaw Task! Until then, folks!"

Jen stumbled toward the arena entrance, passing the mediwizards congregating around Krum. She had just stepped off the platform when her body stopped responding.

_I truly hate concussions_, was her last thought before her consciousness fled and she fell face-first onto the ground.

* * *

**Ugh. Having Jen use Futhark was easy; I didn't need to do anything but look up which runes worked best for what I wanted to do. Ogham… not so much. That one got created pretty much out of whole cloth during a Physiology lecture. The kidneys suck.**

**For anyone who thinks what Jen did to her coat sounds familiar, yes, I did finally get a chance to read **_**The Dresden Files**_** over my Christmas and Spring Breaks.**

**Fleur's French:** "Little bitch! I _hate_ getting wet! You want to play with the big girls? Let's play!"

**Silently Watches out.**


	26. End of a Long Day

**killroy225:** Voldemort will show up at the end of the year as regularly scheduled.

**Hi-Pot-And-News:** I hope you're proud of yourself. One random comment from you, and my muse ambushes me with an enormous Viktor/Jen subplot.

**Guest** (chapter 22)**:** I found the Futhark runes and their meanings on a website whose address I can't recall at the moment. The Ogham's all me.

**skywiseskychan:** As far as this universe is concerned, magical exhaustion, like physical exhaustion, is a problem solved by rest and patients not casting while their cores refill; when the mediwizards checked on Jen after her collapse, they attributed her lack of magic to that and went on with their work. Compared to the chaos normally found in a school of magic, a concussion is minor and was left to the school nurse to fix.

**For those who read last chapter before I got a chance to fix it, I added the translation of Fleur's little tantrum.**

**Disclaimer: **Did we ever find out what happened to the golden eggs after the Second Task? If not, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.

* * *

**Chapter 26  
****End of a Long Day**

It was the smell that woke her.

Before Jen had been the unofficial madam of a child brothel, before she had been a practitioner of Voodoo, before she had possessed even a modicum of control over her own magic, she had been a slave serving three pathetic caricatures of humanity out of fear of further pain, pain she had never, no matter how hard she worked, been able to avoid. One of her most common duties had been to clean their suburban house from top to bottom every other day. That would have been exhausting for a full-grown woman, let alone a child younger than five. She had never been permitted to use soap and water, though, oh no. The vile horse-faced shrew she had had the great misfortune of sharing blood with instead forced her to use barely-diluted ammonia.

The odor of ammonia meant servitude. It meant being a non-entity. It meant pain as a bulbous sack of flesh not fit to be used as a sacrifice or even consumed by worms blinded her with the chemical because he had been taught all his life that she was a worthless freak who could not feel emotions like other people did, or if she could, that her emotions, her hopes, her agony were somehow less important than his own simply because that she was born blessed with the ability to distort the very foundations of reality on a whim.

Needless to say, as soon as she smelled that particular substance, she bolted straight upright.

"About time you woke up."

Jen whirled at the words to feel Cedric laying on a cot half a dozen feet from her. Sensing about herself, she realized she was in the hospital wing and quickly pulled back the blasting curse she had nearly thrown out of reflex. "You're here, too?"

"Yep."

Her sonar had curled up to only ten feet when she passed out, but now she stretched it to its full thirty-meter range, not that she could use that entire space surrounded by walls on all sides as she was. Interestingly, four of her fellow champions were in the same predicament she was. "I know Potter's in St. Mungo's, but where did Leroux disappear to?"

Little Ingrid cleared her throat hesitantly. "He is in de hospital as vell. I _might_ haff stabbed him vith his own sword. It vas an accident!" she exclaimed when the others turned to her in surprise. "How vas I to know he vould not dodge?"

"Girl has a point." Renewing her degrading numbing charms and mental protection against sexual enticements, then subtly casting another notice-me-not charm over her blindfold as she realized the old one had faded away, Jen turned to the third female in the room. "I know this is likely crass, but if the worst should happen and you need a replacement junior champion, you're more than welcome to take Potter back to France with you."

Even blind, she would be hard-pressed to not detect the Veela's withering glare. "_Non_."

"What's with that stick up her arse? You'd think she'd never been struck by lightning before," she muttered, just loud enough for her fellow Hogwarts champion to hear. He promptly choked on his own soft chuckles.

"So vhat _did_ happen to Potter?"

"Have you ever heard that hitting someone with a number of different spells at the same time will have unpredictable effects?" At Krum's nod, she continued, "It turns out that that handy piece of advice should be extended to cover topical potions as well. Last I heard, they were carting him away as an oversized slug. Jury was still out at the time over how long he'd need to stay."

"Longer than any of the rest of you," Madam Pomfrey stated brusquely as she bustled out of her office. "Miss Black, let me take a look at you. Being the least injured, you'll probably be free to leave when I'm done." She swiftly tugged the curtains closed, then followed that action with a number of silencing and anti-eavesdropping spells.

_Well, color me impressed_, Jen thought as she felt the strands of magic weaving through the wool curtains and each other in a captivating dance of textures. Curious about why the nurse was simply standing at the foot of her bed projecting waves of intense irritation, she commented, "I thought _'taking a look at me'_ was a euphemism for a medical exam, not that you were literally just going to stare at me."

"Explain."

"Explain?" she asked, her head tilted in confusion. In response, the mediwitch flicked the wand in her hand, forcing the teen's blouse to slide upwards and reveal the finger-wide brands sunken into the flesh of her belly. "Ah. That."

"_That_." Pomfrey stalked towards her as a lioness would creep up on a young antelope. "It might have escaped your notice, _Miss Black_, but applying runes to yourself, especially when not done under a Rune Master's or Healer's supervision, is generally frowned upon. Doubly so when you are a _fourteen-year-old girl_ who has been studying that particular runic language for just _sixth months. Triply so_ when applying said runes involves _branding_."

"So… not something I should do again? That _is_ what you're saying, right?"

"_Yes_. I think detention will make sure my point sticks." The woman sniffed in displeasure. "Considering that your 'additions' do not seem to have caused unintended harm, I suppose I can be kind and spare you Professor Babbling's tender mercies; I know how much she disapproves of students using runes before she deems them ready. Instead, you will spend your evenings for the next two weeks with Professor Snape."

"…Out of curiosity, do you even have the authority to assign detentions?"

Pomfrey leaned in until there was less than a foot separating their heads, the relaxed face belying the maelstrom of emotions churning inside the older woman. "Do you _really_ want to try my patience right now?"

Jen frowned and slowly licked her lips. "That would not be the brightest decision I could make right now, no," she finally allowed.

"I'm glad we understand each other, then." The nurse pulled a tin from her apron and set it on the table by the wall. "Put that cream on every two hours until the burns are gone. Since I noticed it so early, you probably will not have any permanent reminders of this bit of foolishness." Pomfrey's wand swished, sending a wave of magic that prickled uncomfortably against her skin. "Strange, your core is reading as being almost totally empty, at the very least low enough for you to still be unconscious for another few hours. How are you awake and alert?"

_Well, shite. Not something I planned on._ "I… I don't know." She frowned, wondering if she could gather and hold some of her magic inside her body to fool the spell the nurse had used. It had never been a concern before now, and she was justifiably worried what trying to deliberately back up the flow would do to her nerves. _On the other hand, inadvertently revealing I don't have a core at all would be just as bad, if not worse; __**that**__ secret is second in importance only to my use of the Black Arts. Decisions, decisions._

"Hmm… Any headaches, nausea, strange sounds or smells?"

She shook her head, directing her will in preparation of modifying Pomfrey's memories.

The nurse hummed to herself for a moment. "I suppose you may just be able to function on an unusually low magical capacity compared to the average student." Jen unnoticeably relaxed and allowed the half-formed magic to collapse back into the ether. "For the rest of the day, don't cast any spells and make sure you go to bed early. Your core should finish refilling on its own without any problems, but if you start noticing any of those signs I mentioned, I want you to come back here straightaway. It's not common to any degree, but occasionally magical exhaustion can create painful or even dangerous complications. If I discover that you have _again_ hurt yourself, I will be _quite_ displeased." Pomfrey began unraveling the privacy charms, giving her time to pull her shirt down over the runes. Once the spells were gone, the woman opened the curtains and stormed off. "Report to Professor Snape starting tonight at seven!"

She winced with the others when the door to the office slammed shut with a tremendous bang. "I do believe she is unhappy with me."

"Doktor Schlemm, our school's Healer, vas de same vay vhen he came to lecture us earlier," Krum noted. "Someding about not taking such foolhardy risks and how ve vere lucky not to be more seriously injured. I stopped listening halfvay drough; it is nodhing I haff not heard many times before from de Vultures' trainers."

She chuckled, pocketing the unnecessary burn cream as she stood. Retrieving her coat from where it lay on a chair at the bed's foot, she felt the many small tears the scaly material had picked up from her last duel. _Great, now I have to repair all these._ "Do any of you know where my gloves went?"

"Professor Dumbledore took them after he visited so he could examine them," Cedric supplied helpfully. She stilled, not liking this at all. "He said he was impressed. I'm sure you'll get them back in the next few days."

"I hope so," she replied as the draped her jacket over her arms and made her way to the exit. It would raise questions she did not really want to answer if the headmaster found out that the gloves were merely props to hide her wandless magic, and as a rule, she did not trust anyone who had a phoenix's favor. Most dark witches didn't.

She had almost reached the door when the Bulgarian celebrity spoke up again.

"You fought vell, _Dama_ Black," he said. "Very strong, very fierce. Perhaps, vonce we are both rested and you haff your gloves back, you vould care for a rematch?"

A smile curled her lips as she twisted her neck so he could see the right half of her face. _What I wouldn't give for the ability to wink right about now._ "Oh, I'm sure we'll be crossing wands again regardless of the gloves. In fact, I just about guarantee it. Maybe you'll even win next time, pansy man." Her hips were swaying a little more than usual as she left the hospital wing.

* * *

Viktor eyed the door the intriguing, self-confident, talented — _and attractive_, he admitted to himself — young noblewoman had just walked through. A contemplative look on his face, he turned to his fellow male. "Vhat do you know about her?"

Diggory shrugged. "Not much. She's a Ravenclaw, so obviously she's smart, and she's pretty crafty as well. Her family's a rich, old Dark House, though no one even knew she existed until she enrolled this year. It's clear she's powerful as all get out considering she killed a bloody dragon and won the duels, but you'd probably know that better than I would since you fought her. Sociable for a 'Claw but with a small group of close friends, mostly other girls. Strong sense of right and wrong; she took down a prefect who was bullying some younger kids the first week she was here. That's about all I can tell you, I'm afraid."

"I see. _Danke_." He glanced at the door again before asking, "She is not in relationship, no?"

"Er, I don't think so?"

_I wonder why. So much power in such a delicate slip of a girl; if she were Bulgarian, she would be constantly surrounded by men proposing to her, assuming she were not already engaged or even married by now._ "Hmm. She is, vhat age? Sixteen?"

The Englishman shook his head vigorously. "Merlin, no! She's only fourteen."

His curious expression morphed into a heavier than normal scowl, and he did his best to ignore Eberhardt sniggering beside him. "_Verdammt_."

* * *

As soon as she closed the door behind her, she slipped one hand underneath the hem of her shirt. Focusing her magic soon had the scorched skin returned to its previous unblemished state, and another few seconds did the same to the rune on her left bicep. _There are days I like magic, and then there are days I __**love**__ it_, she thought happily, dismissing the numbing charms that had kept her wounds from distracting her during the duels. Practically skipping in glee as she remembered the showing she had given earlier — falling unconscious at the end or not, the only injury she had suffered was a concussion in the very last duel, and she still won — she entered an empty room just a short distance from the hospital wing. She threw up a suite of privacy charms and examined her coat. _Now, let's take care of this._

The problem, of course, was the material itself. Dragons were resistant to magic, and though the skin used for her jacket had been treated to remove much of that, conventional wisdom stated that repairing it from all but minor scratches was difficult — and therefore expensive — to do. There was a reason dragonhide was considered a luxury good besides the price to obtain it. With the numerous scrapes and small tears from where Krum had clipped her with the jagged stones he kept slinging at high speeds, most people would have had to pay a good portion of its value to have it restored to its original luster. She, however, was anything but _'most people'_. She laid the duster on the lone table at the front of the room and placed both her hands on it. _It's messed up, but I shouldn't need more magic just for this. On the other hand… now would be the perfect time to kick it up a notch._

Very, _very_ carefully, she nudged her connection wider. Knowing her body as well as she did allowed her to stop just before the tingles her nerves were reporting morphed into signals of pain. It was not much; while she could more than double the volume of energy she channeled for short periods without concern that her own power would immolate her, she estimated that the increase this time was only about five percent. Unlike her temporary enhancements, however, she could and would maintain this larger connection indefinitely, forcing her body to adjust to the greater current. She had been slowly boosting her channeling capacity since she sacrificed her core when she was seven, and by this date and presuming her internal measurements were correct, she had nearly tripled the magic she could handle flowing through her at any one time.

Magical cores increased as well, and they did so far faster than she could safely modify her connection. Fivefold increases in core size between the ages of eleven and twenty were common. Her primary limitation, however, was not the same as her fellow witches'. Her reserves were technically infinite as she drew on the constantly recycled magic of the planet; what she had to work with was the _rate_. There was also a benefit that offset the slower increases she had to undergo. A core grew quickly before a mage reached seventeen, then slowed dramatically until it attained its final size. She, on the other hand, would be gaining strength for the rest of her life. Considering that casting magic and wielding Voodoo both dramatically slowed the aging process and assuming she did not meet an unnatural end, that was a long, long time off.

She reveled in the additional power coursing its way along her nerves. It had been six months since the last time she altered her connection like this, which had been only a week before her fateful meeting with Sirius. Normally she waited four or five months between sessions, but she had simply had so many things going on with acclimating to her new life that she forgot. Aware that her body would never acclimate if she just sat there twiddling her thumbs, she turned her attention to the task at hand. _Using_ the additional magic she drew on had turned out to be the best way to adjust to it.

Though they were very different things, Jen decided to try a strategy similar to the one she had used when she had healed Eberhardt's spine to repair her coat. Magic rushed through her hands in a continuous current, filling the scales with energy. _As I thought, the hide is like nerves in that magic races through it but can still only go so fast. So, if I add magic to it faster than it can drain, it will become saturated and won't be able to fight back when I actually perform the repairs_. She grinned in self-satisfaction; the number of people worldwide who could do this solo was incredibly low, and other than herself and Dumbledore, she didn't think there was anyone else in all of Britain at that level.

It took several minutes, each one punctuated by cursing at how slippery the scales were, but soon the coat could hold no more of her power. With a thought, yet more energy flowed over it and concentrated around the abrasions and punctures; seconds passed before the material was as pristine as it had been on Christmas morning. Picking it up, she was displeased to find that it was also stiff, like it was fresh off the dragon rather than out of the box.

_What a drag_, she grumbled mentally. Sliding her arms through the unyielding sleeves, she resigned herself to breaking the coat in, regardless of how long that would undoubtedly take. The instant it was all the way on, though, the hide began relaxing around her. _Now that I did __**not**__ expect._ Carefully feeling it with her sonar revealed that while the magic she had pushed into it had already flowed away, there was still a faint echo lingering inside that was straining against the leather and making it pliable once again.

_Surprise, surprise. I have never spent much time around materials from magical creatures; could it be that they develop a memory of sorts for the magical signature of the person who uses them, or at least who works with them? If so, and I periodically run magic through it, I could possibly make myself familiar enough to easily affect it while others cannot. That might even cause the rune on it to work better since the hide will not fight so hard against the magic strengthening it._

Grinning at the possible implications of her discovery, she walked through the deserted hallways, her duster softening further and further as the minutes ticked by. _I have no clue what the time is, but I'm hungry. If I'm lucky, it's about time for dinner, but if not, I can always track down the kitchens. It will just be a matter of locating the strongest remnants of house-elf magic aside from the Great Hall and the dormitories._

Thankfully, she did not have to resort to stalking through the corridors on her hunt for elves. Entering the Great Hall, she immediately located her friends gathered at the near end of the Hufflepuff table, each manifesting an aura of worry and mild sorrow. She dropped next to Justin, who started in shock. "What's got all of you down?"

"Jen!" Luna nearly hurtled over the table, but in the end only raced around to latch onto the older girl like a limpet. "We were worried about you! You really hurt yourself out there today."

She laughed softly and carded one hand through the third-year's soft hair for a moment. "It was just a concussion; I'm fine. I think Pomfrey simply decided that the best way to prevent her patients from getting too unruly was to keep them conked out the whole time they're in her care."

Kenneth snorted. "Yeah, that sounds like something she'd do."

"Trust the brash Lion to know," she returned. "What happened while I was stuck in the infirmary?"

"You won the Task, if you don't remember," Susan said helpfully. "You're also in first place overall, so congratulations for that, as well. Everyone's been concerned since all of the champions had to be taken to the hospital wing or St. Mungo's. Um, that's about it; you were only out for few hours. How are the others?"

"In good shape, mostly; I was the last one to wake up but the least injured. I think they'll be getting out tomorrow at the very latest. What happened to Leroux, by the way? I know Eberhardt stabbed him, but…" She trailed off and pulled a platter of brisket closer to her. With the duels starting at eleven, she had apparently caught the very front edge of dinner.

Morag shook her head. "It wasn't pretty. Eberhardt had this staff she was using to create wind like you did and threw the guy around for a while. Eventually, he dropped the rapier he was carrying around, and she had the wind pick it up and throw it back at him. Caught him straight in the gut, which would have been bad enough except for the potion he coated the blade with. It looked like it was _dissolving_ him when Bagman finally called the match and let the Healers Portkey him to London. She was really torn up about it, and it kept her from fighting Krum at her best."

Jen paused, a forkful of meat hovering in the air. "She probably didn't mean to hurt him that badly. After all, with magic, healing a stab wound like that isn't a big deal. That potion, though… if it was actually doing what you think it was, that could have killed him." She moved the bite into her mouth and savored it for a moment. "Any news on the Slug-Who-Lived?"

"Well, he moved up to third place overall." Her head shot to Tracey, who continued, "Apparently, the judges decided that since he lost in the second round, he deserved ten points just like Eberhardt even though he was only there because he got the bye. A _lot_ of people aren't happy about that, and I'm not just talking about the other Slytherins."

"Of _course_ we aren't happy. Not only did he cheat to get into the Tournament to begin with, now he's getting points even though he didn't do anything," Susan complained. "It's not fair."

"And the fact that the judges doing so pushed Diggory down to fourth has _nothing_ to do with it, I'm sure," Tracey retorted with a smirk.

"…Maybe a little." The Hufflepuff blushed as the rest of the group laughed.

* * *

Running his wand over the unusual focus on his desk, Albus frowned at the nonsensical readings his tests were giving him. _Is the latent energy the gems hold altering their organization on a magical level? The arithmancy is showing them to be more like blobs of glass than crystals, which makes absolutely no sense._ He lightly prodded one especially clear stone in an attempt to reinforce its structure, only for it to quiver and blink out of existence. That seemed to be the call for the others to follow, and in a second he was looking at nothing more than a plain leather glove. Cursing lightly, he picked it up and tossed it onto its fellow, which was likewise devoid of ornamentation.

"And I was sure I was on the right track that time," he muttered in frustration. Those gloves had been as good as a wand for the elemental spells the Potter girl had been throwing around earlier in the day, and he was very curious as to how they had come into her possession. He was by no means an expert on alternate foci, but something that allowed that much control over an entire branch of magic should have been fairly well known, yet these were new. _Such a loss. Had I been able to discern their mysteries and adapt whatever process those gems had undergone to another set of spells, they could have made an excellent tool for the Greater Good. It is not as if I can simply ask the girl where she got them; if she knew she had outsmarted me with something this minor, what would stop her from attempting less innocent actions?_

Sighing, he leaning back into his chair. _Has Alastor's paranoia rubbed off on me? Am I seeing enemies where there are none?_ He picked up a lemon drop from the crystal dish on his desk and popped it into his mouth, enjoying the sweet tang. _No, while I may be paranoid when it comes to her, it is far better to be cautious than to let her run around unhindered. The Prophecy was clear about her _'knowing only hate and cruelty'_. If she was that evil as a babe, how much more must she be as a teenager? Taken in by a Dark family, Sorted into Ravenclaw so she might ferret out further knowledge of forbidden magics, killing without a shred of remorse, and now using an unknown focus to defeat a witch and a wizard three years her senior. If she is capable of this now, what will she be like once she reaches her majority and her core's full growth?_

_I had hopes that she would seek the path of Light once she was among other children, but it seems they were all for naught. If something does not happen soon, she might even drag the students she has ensnared into Darkness with her!_ He shot to his feet in agitation and paced for several minutes before inspiration struck.

_I am going about this all wrong. Change cannot come from inside her; she is too far gone. If, however, the change comes from __**outside**__… A friendship rather than collecting followers, possibly even love? Would that alone be enough?_

_It will have to be someone who can be trusted, someone from a family that is unfailingly Light. Perhaps one of the Weasley boys? Jenny and Ronald are both at the age where they will soon start seeking romance. As he and Danny are close friends, this would also give her incentive to reconcile with her parents. With both the Weasleys and the Potters influencing her, she will eventually recognize that something is wrong with her and seek to cleanse herself of her taint. Such a task is impossible due to her inherent evil, but it would weaken her enough that she is no longer a threat to our world._

_Potions would guarantee that things between Jenny and Ronald turn out as they must, but the consequences should they be detected are too great for that to be my opening gambit, especially with her actively corrupting Amelia's niece. No, I will see if any degree of love springs up on its own and follow up if need be._

He smiled and settled back into his chair; why hadn't he thought of this before? Even Tom was destined to succumb to the power of love. _Now, what would be the best way to arrange this?_

* * *

Severus opened the door to his classroom at precisely seven o'clock, pleased to find the girl waiting outside quietly. "Get in," he said with a mild snarl. Once the door was closed again, he pointed unnecessarily to the table absolutely covered in bright red desert snails. "Since you were in need of burn cream after your little… misadventure, it seems only proper that you should have a first-hand experience with every step in its production, starting with rendering the ingredients. These snails, which you will later pulp to form the juice needed for creating the base of the potion, lose nearly all their potency if magic is used to extract them from their shells. Therefore, you will need to remove them by hand, taking great care not to rip them apart and leave half of their bodies inside the shell. I assure you, this is exceedingly easy to do if you do not pay close attention. Once you have put all those in the bucket on the floor, you can start on the next batch; there are five in total, which should keep you quite busy tonight."

He sat at his desk marking essays while Ms. Black worked diligently in silence, not once complaining like many — _many_ — of her contemporaries would have done in her place. An hour and two sets of snails later, he ordered, "Tell me in a single sentence why you are serving these detentions in the first place."

"I broke a school rule and passed out before I could get rid of the evidence, Professor."

He smirked against his will at that response; did the Ravens know they had a Snake in their nest? "An acceptable answer. Continue; those creatures will not shuck themselves."

* * *

Sundays were normally lazy days at Hogwarts, but one girl in Ravenclaw Tower was seemingly unaware of that as she ran her hands over a smooth golden egg a third the size of her own torso.

Jen was quite frustrated at this point; try as she might, she could not figure out the secret to getting into the egg. There were no latches or keyholes, no seams from welding or sticking charms to hold two halves together. She had even tried to cut it to get at the contents, but to no avail. The blasted thing just sat there, taunting her with its refusal to reveal its secrets.

With an angry growl, she picked the egg up and threw it at her dormitory wall before flopping down on the floor. She had enjoyed slacking off for the near two months between the Gryffindor and Slytherin Tasks, but now that was coming back to bite her in the arse. It would be terrible for a Ravenclaw to fail at the task inspired by her own house.

_Of course, it's not like the others are having an easy time of this, either_, she consoled herself. _I'm not an idiot, far from it; if __**I**__ can't figure it out, then they won't be able to, either._

She mentally slapped herself. _No, no, I can't let myself go down that trail of thought. The last Task was a bloody __**wandless duel**__, and yet I nearly __**lost**__ the damn thing due purely to my own arrogance. I'm not going to put myself at a disadvantage here by assuming that I'm the smartest of the seven champions. Even if I am, there is no telling what the others have learned that I have not. For all I know, the older champions have a spell in their repertoire that makes this egg a minor hurdle. The only one I'm guaranteed to have an advantage over is Potter, and let's be honest, that's not saying much._

_What if… what if I'm looking at this all wrong? Bagman said what I need for the Task is inside the egg, but what if he was speaking metaphorically? It was resistant to damage, but I detected no charms activating to protect it. That means the magic is integrated into the metal, which is a key quality of either goblin or dwarven origin. The former are bankers but used to be warriors. The latter are the world's best mechanical engineers: buildings, toys, bridges, aqueducts, what have you. Both of them live underground, though; could the Task take place inside a tunnel system? The egg is made of solid gold, so maybe a race for treasure?_

She summoned the baffling object back to her hand, curious if there was anything else she could glean from it. There was, but it wasn't what she expected; the egg's impact with the wall had forced a small section to slide almost a centimeter from its original position, a flat crescent now present at the edge. _Or maybe I'm overthinking the whole problem._ Groaning, she banged her forehead against the cold metal for a few seconds. "Stupid, stupid, stupid."

_So the damn thing's nothing more than an obscenely expensive puzzle box. Okay, this I can handle._ Puzzle boxes were something she was quite familiar with. When she first started at Candyland, a friendly ten-year-old boy named Anthony Merchant had taken her under his wings to explain how things worked in their little corner of Avryporth. He had been a prodigy when it came to working with his hands, crafting small toys for the youngest children or the new arrivals, be they wooden puppets or plush animals. What he _really_ loved, however, were puzzles of all shapes and forms. Solving them and building them, fifty or 1000 pieces, cartoons of farm animals and even one that, when completed, became a photograph of four of the brothel girls cuddling naked on a couch.

During the eighteen months they had both been employed there, he had taught her how to manipulate the tiny wooden panels of the few boxes he had painstakingly built over the years in order to increase her dexterity and sense of touch, though she also used them to train her — at the time — unwieldy sixth sense. Now was the time to put those old skills to good use.

She reeled in her sonar, losing touch of the walls of the room, then the furniture. It was unnerving to be unaware of her surroundings after so long relying on this gift, but she continued until she was no longer feel even the floor she was laying on. Slowly, she focused the entirety of her magical sense on the egg. Sliding the displaced panel back into place, she examined the edges she knew were present. _There! Good grief, no wonder I couldn't find anything; that crack is thinner than one of my hairs. Now, if this is a puzzle box, where are the other panels?_ Starting at the narrow end, she slowly moved down what she had thought was a smooth surface, astounded at the number of intersecting lines she could now detect.

_Assuming whoever made this egg followed the same strategy Muggles do, moving this piece…_ She slid the panel as far as it could go, then searched again. In a matter of seconds, she located an edge that had nearly tripled in width, though the original size meant the distance the segment had moved was otherwise imperceptible. _…will loosen the next in the sequence._ She had to rotate this one, and after it was in place, she repeated the process. A minute and six steps later, she unscrewed the bottom panel that made up the wide end of the egg and heard a small roll of parchment hit the floor.

With her sonar still centered on the hollow hunk of precious metal, she was reduced to fumbling with her hands in the general area where the clue — for what else could it be? — had stopped. She finally found and unrolled it, then with a finger spread her magic over the newly-revealed sheet. There was no writing on it, which did little to improve her temper.

_Fine, then. There's more than one way to skin a kneazle._ She summoned her scrying mirror from where she had left it in her writing desk, her reliance on what was essentially a long-range form of touch having granted her an extremely precise memory for objects and their relative positions. Catching the mirror and placing it on the floor next to her, her hand moved around its glassy face.

There were two possible means a person could use to scry. The one Jen preferred was the more advanced version and consisted of sending her five physical senses to another location via a mental projection. This allowed her to observe the area of interest as if she were actually there, but in return it eliminated all awareness of what was occurring around her body and also took away her ability to move. This time, however, she chose to use the basic method. The swirl of color in her otherwise dark world cleared, leaving her a foot-wide circle of vision. Controlled by her will, the image the 'screen' showed shifted from its default placement directly above her and zoomed in on the square of parchment she held in the hand not feeding magic to the mirror.

Presented to her was an extremely simplistic collection of intersecting lines; though not even an infant would have trouble navigating it, what it represented was clear. "A maze," she said in disbelief. "_That's_ the clue hidden in the egg? I'm supposed to create a strategy based on _this_?! What a waste of time!" Tearing her hand away from the mirror and abruptly ending her scrying session, she balled the parchment up and threw it to the other side of her room. She returned her attention to her new keepsake. "Well, at least I got _something_ out of the deal."

She picked up the pieces of the egg and began fitting them together again. When the last panel was back in place, the entire thing let out a sound midway between a _click_ and a _thunk_. "What in the world?" Glad that she had not expanded her sonar from its narrow focus, she examined the object anew. The starting panel had moved closer to the rest of the egg, and she tested it only to find that its slide was much more difficult to initiate. _I can reopen it in the previous configuration, but perhaps I'm not supposed to?_ Running her hands randomly over the shell, she nudged the top slightly off-center. _Okay, a multimodal puzzle box is __**much**__ more appropriate for the Ravenclaw Task._

An hour passed before Jen quit manipulating the panels of the egg; in that time, she had collected many more hints. _And there's move 100_, she thought, returning the clue dispenser to its original shape. She flared her sonar and rocked back as the various items in the room suddenly reappeared in her awareness. Having placed her hand once again on the scrying mirror earlier to identify the clues as they emerged, she looked through it to review the three groups she had created.

The _'Setting'_ division was first, consisting of the childish maze; a square divided into thirds, each filled by clouds, flowers, and what she presumed to be waves; a moving photograph of a lake, possibly the one on the castle grounds; and another photo, this time of the empty stands in the arena. Other than the segmented square, they were all fairly self-explanatory.

Next came _'Dangers'_. A third photograph of a bonfire was joined by artistic impressions of some slavering beast, a large rock falling through the air, bows firing without anyone behind them, and a humanoid figure chained to a thick vertical post. _Perhaps a troll or a giant?_, she wondered as she examined it again. To one side, midway between this set and the third was a slip that read only _'FEAR'_. She was unsure exactly what this meant, but it certainly sounded like a threat.

The last group was _'Unknown'_. A final wizarding photograph showing students as they milled in front of the house hourglasses, a picture of a compass, and a diagram she could not for the life of her interpret. It had another square, but this time there was a single figure inside that had slumped against the borders. An arrow pointed from that figure to a second within a house-like drawing. _Perhaps that is meant to be a medic tent like the one set up during the first Task? I can't tell; there simply isn't enough information._

She traced the lines on the clues with magic so that she could distinguish the images without scrying again before dismissing the ring of vision and floating the mirror back to her desk. "Thirteen clues, though I'm sure others are held inside more difficult settings of the egg. Now the question becomes what the hell do they mean?" She summoned her pocket watch and flipped it open to feel the hands. "Almost ten. Padma, Morag, and Luna should be up by now; maybe they'll be able to help me out. If not, we can check to see if there has been a similar Task before.

"Only one way to know for certain. To the library!"

* * *

**Apparently, Madam Pomfrey doesn't approve of self-mutilation. Who knew?**

**Another movie reference for you guys to find… if you dare.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	27. Hostage Situation

**Forsaken139:** Remember how I said early on that ingested potions don't work on Jen? That's not limited to healing draughts. You could pour a gallon of Amortentia down her throat, and she'd still rip your heart out of your chest and stomp on it (and yes, I _do_ mean that literally).

**skywiseskychan:** Honestly, if I had known how much trouble a blind protagonist would be to write when I started this, I'd have reconsidered using that subplot. There are just so many visual aspects to daily life, facial cues in particular, that require me to really blur the lines between sonar and sight. Not being blind myself, nor personally knowing anyone who is, makes getting the balance right more than a little difficult. Rant aside, I'm glad it's not _too_ unrealistic and that you're enjoying the rest of it.

**bissek:** See below. Dumbledore may have heard of self-fulfilling prophecies, but good luck making him realize this is one of them. Yes, "consider" is very much the keyword in your supposition of whether Jen will choose Light or Dark solutions for her problems. She will never reveal her full background in public, likely not even in private. There is a large number of people who, upon hearing that the Potters gave up their daughter for being a squib, would ask who she stole her magic from rather than how they made such an enormous blunder. In Jen's mind, it's better to let that particular dragon keep sleeping.

**del-Cormic, garsdal, magitech, smeehee:** You all, along with bissek, will just have to wait and see what happens with the whole gloves situation, won't you? ; )

**Are ShadowCub and Write-Handed Backstabber my only fellow **_**Hellraiser**_** fans? I must profess myself most disappointed.**

**Oh, and since **_**so many**_** people were complaining about it, I've reworked the very first scene of this story to give a longer (and hopefully clearer) explanation of why Sirius spent twelve years in Azkaban. Happy now?**

**Disclaimer:** Was Durmstrang _the_ school to attend if you wanted to be a future Dark Lord? If so, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.

* * *

**Chapter 27  
****Hostage Situation**

"Well, shite. I'm doubly glad I erased his memory now."

Jen pulled her hand from the book she had been perusing with a small groan. After spending several weeks debating all the different possible meanings of the clues inside her golden egg and coming up with not a single definitive theory, the small flock of Ravenclaw girls, aided and abetted on occasion by the other members of her 'court' as a few had taken to calling them when they thought she was out of earshot, had finally capitulated and moved on to other topics. As it was only the middle of February, there was still almost a month for inspiration to strike. Cedric had confided that he, too, was having issues interpreting the half-dozen hints he had coaxed from the puzzle, which lifted her spirits slightly.

So, now that her research time was empty, she had taken to combing the library's stacks to answer a question that had been niggling her since the Yule Ball. When she had confronted Zabini about his 'dining habits' and essentially bullied him into vowing not to prey on other students, he had called her a _Cacciatrice_. It had not taken her long to discover the English translation of that word — Huntress — but knowing _what_ he had said gave no hints as to _why_ he said it, especially considering the degree of hate he had imbued the word with. Coming from his lips, it had been less title and more vulgar epithet. Four fruitless days later, she used her long mid-Wednesday break to finally look up general information on incubi, including their history in Britain, only to have the explanation slap her in the face.

She could still hear a nasal voice, the result of her magic twisting hand-written words into sound, rattling about her skull.

"…_It was only after the death of Minister Dagworth's eldest son Wallace in 1758 at the hands and lips of the Matriarch of the British succubi that the Ministry of Magic and the Wizengamot began to take the threat these creatures posed seriously. Though the Aurors fought bravely, when ten months had passed, the nest had taken only minor losses; the wizarding forces, on the other hand, had been cut to a third of their original strength. Knowing that this state of affairs could not continue, the Ministry finally asked outside their own borders for the assistance of any group that was capable of resolving the situation._

"_This aid came in the form of the Order of Hunters, an organization of predominantly Prussian witches and wizards who had spent centuries honing their tactics and repertoire for achieving their ultimate goal: the extermination of succubi wherever they might be found. This wealth of experience now on the side of British wizards, the tables were turned. Within just over two years of their arrival, the nest had suffered ninety percent losses and to a member fled to Florence, where the greatest stronghold of their kind was and still is located. The Order spent an additional six months in Britain ensuring the magics they had developed were widely documented in case the succubi returned before they departed for their next target._

"_As of the time of writing, I have been unable to determine if this Order exists currently, though the fact that incubi and succubi have not been proven to have emigrated from Italy since the eradication of the French nests in the 1870s indicates that they, at least, believe the organization continues to be active to this day. The spells most useful against these creatures are still part of the Auror training syllabus, specifically during the third and final year."_

Jen shook her head and closed the text carefully; Pince, the shriveled-up biddy who watched over the library, had ears like a fox for anyone 'mistreating' her books, including shutting them too forcefully. _And to think, I had considered letting him go with full knowledge of our little deal. St. Agnes's Rings was probably — no, __**certainly**__ — one of the spells this Order used routinely, so if he had relayed to his mother that I knew what he was and how to hurt him, her spurning Sirius's offer of a minor alliance between our Houses would have been the least of our concerns._

_Actually_, she mused with a hum, _his behavior, specifically his accusations that I was a liar and a monster, make far more sense now. It does not excuse his rudeness or belligerence, of course, but…_

She trailed off as she felt a familiar core enter the library and move towards her. With a slight smile, she pushed the book and her thoughts about the soon-to-be-dead juvenile incubus away. "Why, hello, pansy man. What brings you here?"

Krum stopped short in surprise; understandable, as her back was to the door. Even if she had working eyes, she would not have been able to spot him. "How did you know it vas me?"

"Your footsteps." She leaned back and turned slightly so he could see the left side of her face. "With your frame, you have a distinct stepping pattern, which is readily recognizable to anyone who has trained their ears to hear rather than just look pretty."

"I see," he replied, coming closer and laying one broad hand on the chair across the table from her. "Can I join you?"

She shrugged, and he pulled out the seat. "You didn't answer me, you know. Any particular reason you're braving the castle to come here? I would have thought someone would have made room on the ship for at least a small library."

"Very small. It does not haff books I need to complete my assignment for A-rit-man-cy." He pronounced the word carefully, as if the subject was called something quite different at Durmstrang. "I do not vish to fail my exam, even in de case I do vin de Tournament."

"Oh? I was under the impression that the normal end-of-year tests had been canceled for all the champions." She had been overjoyed at that announcement; she could ace any practical exam for her 'wanded' subjects, but the theory portions would eat her alive. Though she had been doing her best to catch up ever since she realized that her magic and wand magic used completely different mechanics, she was still only halfway through second year material. It was a good thing she had not slacked off with this year's lectures, as she would still have reading to do for third year come summer. Tossing fourth year into the mix was guaranteed to keep her catching up into the next school year; that on top of OWL preparation would be too much even for her.

Krum grimaced. "_Da_, dey vere technically, but dat vas really only for de junior champions. Regardless of vhat dat Bagman man said, I still haff my Proficiencies to take dis June, before de last Task. I believe your headmaster is providing Portkeys for de examiners to come here radder dan make us go back to Durmstrang for dem."

This was not something she had considered before. In fact, of the senior champions, the only one who benefited from the decision was Cedric; Krum and Delacour were both in their seventh year. _**That's**__ not an obvious home pitch advantage at all. I can only presume that the exams he is referring to are analogous to the NEWTs._

"I do haff udder reason for coming here," he admitted. "Your Madam Pince is very goot at scaring avay fangirls dat follow me in here to fawn and make goo-goo eyes."

She snorted indelicately, and his whole frame rumbled with amusement. "I would have expected a healthy male like you to enjoy having hordes of nubile girls literally flinging themselves at him."

"At first," he agreed, "but it became boring soon. Dey see me on broom and dink dey know everyding about me, or are interested only in spending a night in my bed so dey can brag about it later to deir friends and de gossip rags. It is… annoying." He tapped the book she had been reading. "Vhat about you? I dought Hogvarts does not haff Dark Arts class."

"Nope, just curious about incubi. We can't all go to a school where the Dark Arts are one of the major subjects." Many Badgers and Lions, even a few Ravens, had refused to interact with their Durmstrang guests for that reason alone, afraid of contamination or corruption or some such nonsense. She, on the other hand… well, if anyone lived in a glass house, it would be her.

"I do not know vhere dat rumor started," he huffed, crossing his arms over his wide chest. "Ve do not haff mandatory Dark Arts class; ve haff a first drough fifth year _dueling_ class. _Da_, students can take Dark Arts in de dird year if dey vant, but dat is not limited to Durmstrang. I know Beauxbatons also offers dis elective, but you do not see _dem_ being given distrustful looks."

"Wait, Beauxbatons teaches the Dark Arts? The _'even if you're useless after seven years at our school, at least you'll be polite about it'_ Beauxbatons?" When had this happened? Then again, it wasn't as if she had ever read the visitors' course offerings. As far as she knew, none of the Hogwarts students had. _Talk about making decisions without all the necessary information…_

"Dat Beauxbatons indeed. Also Valencian College of Vizardry, Akademia in Greece, Institute of Sorcery in Italy, Balkan Academy, Russian Magical University… De only schools in Europe dat do not haff de course is de Dutch school and here, and it is only dese two countries, along vith Serbia, dat do not recognize licensure."

She cocked her head. "I'm sorry, licensure? What kind of license are you talking about?"

"It is…" He paused for a moment, apparently working out the best way to explain it. "All students who pass deir Proficiency are legally permitted to use dark magic vhenever dey vish so long as it does not harm anodder human. Exceptions are made if de magic is cast to protect yourself or somevon else, of course."

_Well now, __**this**__ is certainly an interesting twist_, Jen thought. She leaned forwards and tapped the book laying between them. "So if I went to the Continent, got a license, and later killed an incubus, I wouldn't have to worry about Aurors coming after me?" All the spells she knew to stop incubi and succubi were dark; Elsie had stated once that she didn't think anything but dark magic _could_ hurt them for very long thanks to their infernal healing.

"Unless you vere in Italy, vhere dose monsters are more or less in charge," he said seriously. "It is very important to remember dat de rights any near-human species has depend on vhat country dere are in. Let us take our French competitor as an example. Delacour is Veela, and in her home country, she is de same as any udder vitch. If she vere visiting Bulgaria, however, she vould not enjoy such comforts, dough her foreign citizenship vould protect her somevhat. Vere you at de Vorld Cup, by chance?" She shook her head. "Vell, ve had some native Veela come as our mascots. Dey vere — vhat is vord? — _conscripted_ into doing so. Dey can not say no vhen de government says to do someding. It is not a law I agree vith personally, but," he shrugged his shoulders, "I am not politician. I just play game."

"I guess I would need to learn what counts as human and what's a near-human creature should I ever decide to take a vacation on the Continent, then." She pursed her lips as a thought came to her. "Out of curiosity, what's stopping students from going through the course and purposely failing the final test? Being licensed implies that there is some registration or monitoring system for those who have one, but if someone wanted to use dark magic for nefarious purposes, wouldn't simply not being on it make their goals easier to achieve?"

"De countries who recognize de license all made using dark magic vithout von a serious crime vith very harsh punishment. If it is so easy to earn and dere are so many people vith von — and dere are many, _many_ people who haff a license and yet never vonce had reason to use dark magic after dey graduated — dey felt dere vas no reason to be gentle on dose who see demselves as above de law.

"As you say, dere is a self-updating register in… Svitzerland, I dink. It is no stigma to be on it; it holds de names of about a tenth of Europe's population, after all." Krum paused for a moment. "In fact, now dat I dink about it, most people who learn de subject do so to be able to protect demselves from somevon using dark magic against _dem_. No von vants to see de rise of a second Grindelwald."

"You know quite a bit about this. Is the Dark Arts one of the Proficiencies you're studying for?" she asked.

He softly chuckled and shook his head. "_Ne_, it is not von of my classes. I just know several people who are or vere in it, my older brodder among dem, so I picked up some of de history along de vay. If you really vant to know more about de subject itself, Eberhardt scored in de top tier on her Competency exam last year and is in de Proficiency class now. I am sure she vould be villing to answer any of dose types of kestions you have."

"I just might do that." A chiming sounded from her satchel; pulling out her pocket watch revealed that she had only five minutes to get to Transfiguration, the last period of the day. "Damn. I hate to cut you off, but I need to leave for class. Thank you very much for the chat, Krum."

"Please, call me Viktor."

"Jen." She held out her hand, but to her surprise, he did not accept her handshake. Instead, he lifted her knuckles to his lips and delivered a light kiss. It was old-fashioned, certainly — not even the staunchest British traditionalists did that anymore — but she could not deny that it was rather charming nonetheless.

Viktor smiled. "Jen, den. I hope dis vill not be de last time ve speak like dis."

"As do I." She picked up her bag and her book, then dropped the latter in a bin charmed to automatically re-shelve it. Only when she was outside the library did she brush her fingertips across the hand still tingling from their parting salutation. "As do I."

* * *

Jen pulled her long coat tighter about herself. Early that morning, the heavens had apparently decided to turn the valley Hogwarts was situated in into a inland sea, and the rain had only gotten harder since. By two o'clock, the March monsoon had her practically swimming through the air. _Why can't these Tasks be __**inside**__ the castle for once?!_

Her grousing aside, she was curious about the large glass box, sixty feet to a side, taking up one corner of the Black Lake. She had no better idea what this Ravenclaw Task would involve now than she had three weeks previous.

"All right, let's get started," Bagman cried. He was the only jovial one of them, as well as the only judge in their little octet. "As you can see, or rather _can't_ see, you aren't going to have a live audience today, what with this bloody weather and all. Instead, you will each need to wear one of these." With a flourish, he whipped seven pendants out from under his cloak.

"And zose are…?" Leroux asked. He was rubbing his abdomen where the scar he received in the wandless duels was situated; according to the rumor mill, the poison he had used to coat his blade was far more dangerous than anyone had expected for such a 'friendly competition' as this one. The French junior had spent two weeks in St. Mungo's, and his return was marked by a furious Madame Maxime reminding all three schools that contrary to previous tournaments, lethal attacks against another champion would not be tolerated.

"Well, we can't have all of you running hither and yon while the other students are locked up inside, can we? Each of you have your own large viewing mirror in the Great Hall, and we have smaller ones scattered throughout the maze so that your peers can watch you. These necklaces will keep track of where you are so your fans can see and hear you while you're inside. Originally, we were just going to use them to monitor your progress, but some quick charmwork from your headmasters and headmistress earlier today provided us with a better solution. Well, put them on already."

Once all the champions were wearing their trackers, he guided them to the structure that Jen presumed was the maze he and the clues had referenced. "Did any of you notice that someone close to you was missing at lunch?" She felt no surprise drifting off him at their frowns and shaking heads. Casting her mind back to earlier in the day, she remembered eating with Luna, Padma, and Morag, as well as Tracey swinging by at the very beginning of the meal to grant as much public encouragement as the Slytherin could manage without hurting herself. She had also felt Susan and Justin safely seated at the Hufflepuff table. _In fact, Kenneth is the only one I don't recall being there._ "Well, each of you had one of your friends chosen to be a hostage and who is waiting inside the maze. You have one hour to find them and bring them back out. I will warn you, however, that getting to them is not going to be as simple as just looking around. There are a number of dangers you must face, and not a few of them will seriously harm you if you let them get too close. Most of you should have realized this from the hints we hid inside your eggs." Potter and Delacour both radiated intense embarrassment.

_Did neither of them figure it out? Oh, that is just too funny._ Strangely, Leroux and Viktor were also sheepish, albeit to a lesser extent. She drifted a couple of feet to the two males. "You two didn't get the clues?" she asked.

"I only found zree."

"Four."

She shook her head at the silly boys; she at least had a vague idea of what these obstacles would be. Weighing the options for who her own hostage could be, she was more sure than ever that it was the Gryffindor prefect. As the only one of her close friends to be missing that afternoon, Kenneth _had_ to have been chosen for this dubious 'honor'.

"Just like the first two Tasks, our junior champions will get a slight advantage. Will the four of you come here for a moment?" As she stepped forwards, she wondered when Potter had been lumped in with the rest of the juniors. She clearly remembered him having to face the dragon without the protection of a fire-retardant cloak. Then again, the injuries he had suffered then could have been the reason the judges moved him to the younger bracket. _They can't risk their precious Boy-Who-Lived, after all._ Bagman rummaged through his pockets for a moment before pulling out a quartet of thick glass disks. "These compasses will point in the direction of your hostage. Let's see, they have names on them…"

A few minutes later, Jen found herself in front of a wooden door sunken into the class wall of the box. The maze was located approximately a hundred feet from the lake's banks; they had to travel along a floating walkway to reach it. Each champion had their own starting points, and hers was the only entrance that had a side all to itself. She was thankful for the privacy, rolling the compass in her hands in search of the metal post stuck though the housing that the needle would spin around while she waited for Bagman to give the signal to begin.

"Is everyone ready? Your hour starts… NOW!"

The door flung itself open, and she wasted no time stepping over the threshold. _Where is that stupid post? Wait, it's probably made of glass, too, isn't it?_ She sighed; so much for the easy solution. _Fine, I'll just have to try a different approach._ She remembered that she was being watched by the whole school a moment before she made the terrible mistake of altering the form of her compass with her will alone. Pointing her blank wand at it, she transfigured an opening on one side of the previously closed casing, her sonar now capable of reaching inside. _Since this maze is three-dimensional, my guide should be the same._ The disk became a short cylinder, the glass flowing so that the side opposite the needle was open to the air and her magical sense. She then reformed the juncture of the needle and the post, which was indeed part of the casing, so that it resembled a ball-and-socket connection found in some natural joints.

_Dissecting all those animals to learn their anatomy is starting to pay off_, she thought lightly; she had cut open what must have been dozens of rats so that she could correctly transfigure them into something else or vice versa, and that was not the only creature she had had to learn inside and out. On the brighter side, she could now act as her own veterinarian should she ever pick up a real pet. Loki, though her familiar, was still very much a wild animal.

Now free to move as it wished, the nickel needle spun to point upwards and to her left, almost to a corner of the the cube. Unfortunately, the hallway she was standing in ran forwards before turning to the right. A quick check proved the walls to be charmed against transfiguration. "Well, this _is_ a maze. It would be too much to expect a straight path to my objective." The idea of blasting a hole to Kenneth sprang to mind, but she shook it away. It was certainly an option, but she had no clue how doing so would affect the maze's structural integrity. She would rather not have the whole thing collapse on top of all of them. Grudgingly, she began walking down the only route available to her.

* * *

_Okay, now I'm starting to get nervous._

There was no need for her to be afraid; she had been following the walls and her compass for the last fifteen, maybe twenty minutes, and she had yet to encounter a single obstacle. That did not change the fact that she was gradually becoming more and more tense. With each corner she rounded only to find yet another empty hallway, the rush of adrenaline spiked her anxiety higher. Between the time limit and her own mind, she hoped the next thing she saw was not a fellow champion.

She was likely to curse on pure impulse at this point.

A sniffle called her back to the outside world. Unbelievably, it sounded like the quiet crying of a young child, not something she expected to hear in here. Cautiously, she edged her sonar around the next bend to examine what was coming next.

It was indeed a child, a young girl. Something was off about her, though; her form wavered, flickering in and out of tangibility like a badly vanished object. As if she had detected Jen's presence, she whispered, "I'm sorry. I'll do better, I promise. Please don't hurt me anymore. I'm sorry," in an endless litany.

Jen knew that voice, knew it intimately. How could she not?

Her fingernails dug into her palms from her clenched fist, and all her tension burst into flaming rage. She stomped around the corner, her teeth grinding as she strode unerringly to the small figure. As soon as she was in range, she hopped forwards a step and let fly from her right leg the strongest kick she could manage. Her foot caught the girl's chin, flinging her into the far wall as if the little body weighed nothing more than a few ounces.

"Blasted bloody buggering boggart," Jen snarled. Reacting to her temper, the wall behind the shapeshifter exploded into sharp shards of glass, shredding the partially corporeal figure into ribbons. Its shell destroyed, the boggart collapsed into its true shape; though invisible to the eyes, she felt the floating streak of slime flow away as fast as it could manage.

She took several deep breaths to calm her storming emotions. Elsie had put her up against a boggart once, just so they would know what her greatest fear was. Most people were frightened of an object or a creature in the outside world, and in these cases, the creatures' primary defensive strategy of changing into that form worked wonders. There were some, however, who were not afraid of something outside themselves, but _inside_. Jen was one of these.

Her fear was simple: she feared being helpless. She feared being completely reliant on any other person to provide for and protect her. She feared having no way of determining her own life, her continued life instead existing solely at the sufferance of another person's mercy.

She feared being _weak_.

She wrapped her arms around herself, her frame shaking slightly. The boggart had taken her own form, back when she was the slave of the Dursley family. That tiny, sniveling, pathetic girl was long dead, but her ghost still haunted Jen on rare occasions, particularly during the three or four days of the year when her annual lethargy left her barely able to force herself out of bed. Those times provided her the constant impulse to gain more and more power: magical, intellectual, social, financial, political, it didn't matter. She knew in the back of her mind that this was not a healthy coping mechanism, but she honestly could not bring herself to care. She _craved_ the security that power brought her.

Forcefully she stuffed her fears and uncertainties back into the depths of her psyche where they belonged. _You are a strong witch, the heiress to a rich and influential Ancient House. You are not getting thrown into a cupboard or being tossed out on a street corner or having a bunch of druggies rape you. You __**are**__, however, wasting time. Get Kenneth and get the hell out of here._ Straightening, she continued down the hallway ahead of her.

The boggart was the first and worst obstacle she had to face. The flame-freezing charm prevented a corridor of fire from burning her, and an immobilizing jinx stopped a volley of short arrows meant to turn her into a pincushion before they could fully exit the holes that had been so carefully charmed unnoticeable. A twisting stairway took her to a higher level, where a hastily-cast omni-directional banishing charm kept a flock of winged daggers from perforating her as she crossed a narrow catwalk positioned over a pit filled with stone spikes. Finally, she threw herself through a small doorway into a room containing another person, one unconscious and chained to a thick wooden pole.

Jen tilted her head in confusion and felt the needle of the compass again. Sure enough, it still pointed at the inert hostage. Frowning, she walked around the room, double-checking that she was in the right place and that her path did not lay behind the captive. "Bugger me on Legba's crutch, whose arse do I need to break my foot off in for _this_ cock-up?"

* * *

**We're seriously supposed to believe that Beauxbatons and Durmstrang provide schooling for all the magical children 11-18 living in the **_**entire**_** continental Europe? And that Durmstrang turns every student into an evil dark wizard from the first day of classes? Pull the other leg, J.K., it's got bells on it. In this story, knowing dark magic on the Continent is much like carrying a concealed firearm in the US: so long as you have a license for it and aren't hurting anyone, it's no big deal.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	28. Flawed Assumptions

**Choas Babe:** The story isn't Luna/Jen/Viktor, exactly, but Jen/Luna with a side order of Jen/Viktor. Trust me, that little subplot was _so_ not my original plan!

**Shikyo no Kyoufu:** There _are_ other intelligent species running around, the fae at the very least, but I currently have no intention for them to show up in this story.

**IveGotNoIdea:** The _early_ books were written for children; the later ones… not so much. I do agree that the moral system is simple, but there's simple and then there's _too_ simple. The problem with thinking that three schools is enough is that Hogwarts is filled _solely_ by British students, so saying that the rest of Europe can be split in half like that is a little absurd, especially since if that were the case, the seventh year and partial sixth year classes from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang in canon wouldn't have been able to fit so easily into the Great Hall without several more tables being added.

**smeehee:** The clues were more of hints for what the obstacles were going to be. It was only after going back and rereading that scene that I realized that they made sense purely because I already knew what was coming : (

**Disclaimer:** Was only one of the three Triwizard Tournament Tasks spectator-friendly? If so, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.

* * *

**Chapter 28  
****Flawed Assumptions**

_Jen tilted her head in confusion and felt the needle of the compass again. Sure enough, it still pointed at the inert hostage. Frowning, she walked around the room, double-checking that she was in the right place and that her path did not lay behind the captive. "Bugger me on Legba's crutch, whose arse do I need to break my foot off in for __**this**__ cock-up?"_

* * *

"Why, _why_ did I get handed Potter's compass? Can Bagman not read or something?" she growled, rolling the dysfunctional device between her palms. The magical core in the room with her did _not_ belong to her friend. Irritated at the situation, the stupidity of the Tournament organizers, and her self-imposed restriction to avoid showcasing her wandless abilities, she pointed her wand in the general direction of the compass. She called to mind memories of Kenneth: the feel of his core, the sound of his voice, the smell of his cologne, the taste of his favorite foods. Reaching out with her magic, she wrested control of the locator spell on the nickel needle and replaced its target with her own. It jumped and shivered for a moment before swinging to point at the exact opposite side of the glass cube she was in. "All right, Jen, over half your time's gone, and it took you that long to get _here_. Bugger the indirect route." She stomped out of the room, her fury palpable.

Ron Weasley remained chained to his post, snoring faintly.

Stepping onto the narrow catwalk, she clenched her teeth as winged daggers again raced at her. This time, however, she did not simply ward them off; twirling her blank wand in her fingers like a slim baton, she whipped it around her head and reduced the knives to slag. A smirk made its way to her lips when she reached the end of the walkway, the needle of the compass still pointing away and down. Her slow, deliberate movements masked as hesitance, she slipped the wand and compass into her pockets before, focusing on exactly what she wanted, she conjured yet another prop under the left sleeve of her duster.

A swift tug with her other hand revealed to her remote audience a polished pyrite vambrace studded with chunks of quartz. She felt the texture of the stones, verifying from the very slight quaver of impurities within that that were indeed the blue variety she had imagined. After pushing her sleeve the rest of the way to her elbow, she held it up as if she were visually examining it. "A little ostentatious for my tastes still, but better than nothing. Let's see if it works as advertised." A sharp gesture, a push of her will, and the stone spikes underneath the catwalk exploded. _**That's**__ what I'm talking about_, she thought as she dropped the five feet to the ground, her heeled boots slipping a tad on the loose rubble. _'Wandless' magic is supposed to be too advanced for me, but a secondary focus makes it perfectly explainable._

The compass, now resting in her right hand, indicated that she had to move down a little more and through the wall in front of her to reach her goal. Grinning — it had been a _long_ time since she had enjoyed a bit of wanton destruction — she turned her head away from the partition to protect her face and flicked her fingers. A loud, brittle crack accompanied the glass shattering to leave a hole almost wide enough for her to lie down in it. Switching the compass between her hands to draw her fake wand again, she cast a softening charm on the floor below her and fell into another smooth hallway running sideways; the needle pointed to the wall in front of her. She weighed her options for a moment, then blew another hole through this barrier as well.

She had _tried_ to play this the judges' way. If only they had not wasted her time with their incompetence…

The second opening led her into a corner, with two paths running to her left and straight ahead. She walked along the route, analyzing the costs and benefits of continuing her charade. _This is __**really**__ starting to be a larger hassle than I want to put up with. I need to find out when it wouldn't be strange for a powerful witch to start doing a few things without the aid of a wand; Flitwick would likely know, or at least have an idea. Then again, what if it takes decades? I've been in Hogwarts for just over six months, and already I'm sick and tired of having to pretend I need this useless prop. Will I be willing to keep up this act for the next three years?_

_No, no I won't. The damn thing is like a set of shackles binding me to an illusion of normality. 'Normal' doesn't cut it with me; why be mediocre when I can be, when I __**am**__, exceptional?_ She rolled the fir stick in her pocket under her thumb, desiring nothing more than to toss it away and openly practice the casting method she had been using ever since she sacrificed her magical core when she was seven. _Unfortunately, things can never be that simple. There is a thin line between 'prodigy' and 'government research subject'; I'd much rather not end up in that second group. I love being in the House of Black, but life was so much simpler when it was just me and Elsie._

Paying more attention to her thoughts rather than her surroundings, she did not notice the attack coming until it was almost too late.

She whipped her left arm over her head, blasting away by reflex the furry creature that had tried to, quite literally, get the drop on her. It hit the ground and bounced before collecting its eight legs underneath it. The spider, which to her disgust was slightly larger than a well-grown dog, rushed at her again. Jen sent another explosive curse at the young Acromantula, but this succeeded no more than the last one had, though it did give her a few feet more space.

_All right, if that's how you want to play it._ She drew her blank wand; of all the spells Flitwick had taught her in preparation for the Gryffindor Task, she had found that this one in particular actually worked better if she used the wandtip to make up for her abysmal pitching skills. Braiding jagged strands of magic together and twisting the ends into drills, she flicked her wrist and let the Destruction Lance fly. The spider met her curse head-on and was instantly liquified, painting the walls with its remains.

_Somehow, using that spell against granite columns just doesn't deliver the same visceral impact as turning a monster to mush_. She frowned as she recalled the description of the highly-dangerous arachnids she had read before learning that the beast in the first Task was a dragon. For all their resemblance to normal spiders, the creatures had near-human intelligence and a fairly developed social structure. No Acromantula this small would be picking fights if it was truly alone, preferring instead to run and hide. Much like a bully, this degree of aggressiveness meant it had a stronger ally nearby.

Either there was an older cousin lurking around, or — Jen shuddered — she was about to run into a whole lot more of these things.

* * *

_Why did I put my name in the Goblet of Fire again?_

Cedric had been asking himself that question off and on ever since Jen had told him that they were going to have to steal golden eggs from mother dragons. Seeing a chunk of rock hurtling at his chest at roughly the speed of a professional-grade Bludger from being _punched_ of all things had made him consider it even more seriously. After traipsing through this funhouse of traps and horrors, freeing his hostage, and then being forced to get back to the entrance along a _second_ pathway that he had not been able to clear out, he had known that asking to be chosen as a Triwizard Champion was, without a doubt, one of the _stupidest_ things he had ever done, and though the penalty of losing his magic meant he hadn't been willing to give up just yet, that option had certainly returned to the forefront of his mind.

Another _Incendio_, the gouts of flame growing ever weaker, pushed the swarm of dark-haired spiders back again. Spinning in place and doing his best not to lose his grip on the unconscious Katie Bell, he deterred the second group of _relatively_ small Acromantulas from trying to flank him. _Being a Muggle can't be __**that**__ bad, can it? I mean, there are more of them than there are wizards, and they don't have a problem from day to day. Chris is a Muggleborn; surely he'd be willing to show me the ins and outs of living without magic._

_But no dream of being far, far away from the Tournament will mean a thing if I don't survive this. Any help would be appreciated; another champion, one of the judges… bloody hell, I'd take __**You-Know-Who**__ coming back from the dead if it got me out of here in one piece!_

In his desperation for escape, he had been too slow to turn around again, and the front edge of the massed Class-5 fiends surged at him…

…only to drown in a river of fire.

Cedric looked up and spotted his fellow Hogwarts champion striding towards him, golden armor wrapped around one forearm and a never-ending torrent of flames rushing from her wand. The blaze, slowing down not a whit, split in two to sweep around him and his captive before crashing into the other pack of monsters. A chorus of loud pops, the spiders' shells bursting from the heat, cheered him up immensely.

After several seconds, the sounds stopped, and the conflagration instantly died. Unfortunately, this allowed him to find out _exactly_ what overcooked spider guts smelled like, and he had to force himself not to retch.

"Oh, Baron protect me, but does that _reek_!"

_Well, at least it's not just me._

He giggled giddily, drunk off the idea that he was, somehow, someway, still alive. "Your first name is Jennifer, right? Not Virginia or Genevieve or something?"

Jen cocked her head to one side, much as he expected a real raven would when confronted with something new and shiny. "Yes, it is, but how could that possibly be important right _now_?"

"Because I'm naming my firstborn after you, and I want to make sure I get it right."

She laughed and shook her head. "Then I hope, for both your child's sake and your own once your eventual wife finds out, that your firstborn is a daughter. If you named your son Jennifer, I do believe he would hate you until his dying breath." She looked — or at least he thought she did; that long fringe made it difficult to tell sometimes — at the girl slung over his shoulder. "So Bell was your hostage?"

"Yeah, she was. I would have thought you'd have yours already, what with the compasses Bagman was handing out."

"Someone, either Bagman or whoever labeled the things, fouled up and switched mine and Potter's. I modified the charm to locate Kenneth —"

"Wait, Kenneth?" he asked in surprise. So far as he knew — partly because a friendship bridging houses and years like that was rare — there was exactly one person by that name she was close to. "Kenneth Towler, Gryffindor sixth year prefect? Why would you be looking for him?"

"He is the only one of my close friends I didn't notice at lunch today, so it is logical that the judges chose him as my hostage," she answered.

"You didn't see him because all the prefects were having a meeting at the time. The Head Boy kicked me out right from the beginning because it dealt with the Tournament, probably about keeping all the other students under control while they watched us, but I know I spotted him there."

Frowning, Jen pulled a small jar from her pocket; it took him a moment to realize that it had previously been the compass the jovial judge had given her. "Damn it. You're right, the needle's pointing at the _castle_. Fan-_bloody_-tastic."

"Sorry," he replied with a wince. If he had wasted all this time looking for the wrong person, he'd be a mite upset, too. "Who did that point to in the beginning?"

"Ronald Weasley."

He blinked in surprise. "Yeah, you're right. Someone did screw up. That would _have_ to have been Potter's hostage." Those two were constantly at each other's sides; before the boy hero brought the redhead's sister to the Yule Ball, quite a few people had begun wondering if they were poofters considering how neither of them had shown any interest in girls to that point. Jury was still out on the Weasley boy considering how much he ignored _his_ date. "Any idea who else your hostage could be?"

A sigh accompanied her dropping the altered compass back into the pocket of her white coat. "Not a clue, and even if I did, I don't think I have enough time to find him or her, anyway. _Bugger!_ And I was in first place before today, too." She clutched her head and rubbed her temples with the heels of her hands.

"You may not want to, but…" he began tentatively. She cocked her head again, so he continued, "You're more than welcome to walk with me to get back to the entrance. Mine, at least. I saw Eberhardt a few minutes after we started, so maybe we'll come across Potter and you two can tell each other where your hostages are? It's worth a shot."

"Not to mention, you'll have another wand by your side in case you get mobbed by freakish spiders again," she dryly added. Cedric was sure his cheeks were going to burn off from the blush at being caught. "May as well; it's not like running around like a doxy with its head cut off will do me any good."

* * *

"_Why did I agree to this again?!"_

"Less screaming, more casting!"

Jen growled and launched yet another explosive curse from her left hand, following it with a flurry of conjured titanium daggers. The trio of transfigured wolves racing towards her went down, crumbling into dirt as the spell ended. _If I find out McGonagall had __**anything**__ to do with making these things_, she growled in her mind as she flicked her wand behind her and bifurcated a canine attempting to catch her off-guard, _I'm going to shove them so far up her arse that her Animagus form will bark!_

Cedric's route was far more dangerous than hers had ever _dreamt_ of being. Acromantulas, illusions, hallways set to flatten anyone who stepped foot inside, and now these attack dogs; what was even worse was that when she made a comment about it, he told her that having her along made this _easy_ compared to the way he had gone to reach Bell in the first place. A third fighter would have taken even more of the burden off, but no matter what the two of them had tried, the comatose girl remained insensate.

One final pair of curses from both her hands eliminated the last of the wolves. "Thank the Baron _that's_ over with," she sighed with relish. A run of her wandtip over the worst of her wounds disguised the lacerations' regeneration. "What's next?"

"Looks like another inter—"

A hook stuck itself through her navel and _yanked_; the scene her sonar presented shattered, leaving her with only the sound of rushing wind. Four worried gasps later, she was flung unforgivingly into the floor of the Great Hall.

"Well done, champions, well done!" The congregated student body cheered loudly and longly, and Bagman eventually had to recreate the sound of a cannon blast to restore some element of order. In that time, Jen felt around her and found that all of the champions minus Leroux were present, though where he and the hostages were she had not a guess. "It seems that _most_ of you were able to retrieve your hostages successfully, so let's get to the important part: your scores!

"In first place is Ingrid Eberhardt! Eberhardt got to her hostage and back in just over forty minutes and received minimal injuries while showing a good grasp of advanced transfiguration by sending decoys around corners. For this, we award her 45 points.

"Second place… also goes to Durmstrang!" He had to wait again for the Durmstrang students to calm down before he continued, "Viktor Krum receives 42 points, as though he suffered no injuries whatsoever, he took several minutes longer than Eberhardt.

"Danny Potter is in third place with 40 points." This time it was the Hogwarts students, specifically those at the Gryffindor table, who held up the proceedings. "Potter demonstrated a knowledge of charms beyond what he could reasonably be expected to know, in particular the bubble-head charm. Unfortunately, he did not make it to the finish in time. He receives additional points for assisting Delacour with reclaiming her hostage.

"With 38 points is Cedric Diggory. Reaching his hostage in thirty minutes, he was only two corridors away from the exit when his hour ran out. His display of a bevy of offensive spells makes up for that delay.

"In fifth place is Fleur Delacour, who receives 30 points. She reached her hostage, but only after being saved by Potter. That need for help, as well as not reaching the exit, cost her significantly."

Bagman turned to Jen, radiating glee even as his voice projected disappointment. "Jennifer Black and Philippe Leroux were the only two who failed to retrieve their hostages. This is especially bad for Black, who _abandoned_ her captive after finding him. She is awarded 15 points, mostly for helping her fellow Hogwarts champion in his time of need."

"This is _ludicrous_!" she snarled, catching the former Quidditch star off-guard. "You yourself told us that our hostage was someone we were close to; the only connection I have with Weasley is that we are in the same year! Yet you are seriously going to stand there and penalize me for _your_ mistake in picking my hostage?! How in the world is that appropriate, let alone fair?!" She already knew she was going to lose her first-place ranking, but to fall to _fourth_?

Madame Maxime stood from her chair. "Meess Black, you were given a compass zat led you deerectly to your 'ostage. Eet is not ze judges' fault zat you failed to follow deerections."

"'_Failed to follow directions'?_ Perhaps if you had used any form of intelligence when picking out hostages, I wouldn't have had to ignore your little trinket! Considering that Weasley is well known to be Potter's best friend, everyone with even a _hint_ of sense would have assumed the compass was wrong!"

"Our deceesion ees final!" the enormous woman thundered. "Be glad we 'ave already determined your score, Meess Black, or I would be asking zat you receive a zero for your rudeness! You 'ave much to learn about respecting your betters."

She seethed at the French headmistress's dismissive attitude, and only Cissy's training in proper decorum stilled her tongue. _Be glad that you're in Britain as a guest, Maxime, or your mouth opening at the wrong time could see your half-giant head parted from your shoulders. My better? Only in your tiny brain. You are my __**superior**__ purely by dint of your position, but no one who is so incapable of comprehending what is directly in front of her face can claim to be better than __**anyone**__, let alone me._

"Er, okay," Bagman muttered, switching his gaze between the two irate females a few times. "Philippe Leroux was knocked out early, but we are still awarding him ten points for his progress. This means that, despite not winning a single event, it is Krum who has taken first place overall."

"Now, I'm sure you're all curious about the Hufflepuff Task. It will be on the twenty-ninth of April and consists of one round of _'Capture the Crup'_, with each school being a team. For those of you who might never have played this game, each team is going to receive a token of their school and then has to protect it from the other teams, who are all trying to steal it, while going after the other tokens themselves. The game ends when one team has all the tokens, even if a member of the other team is still conscious. Just as with the duels, potentially lethal attacks will be _severely_ frowned upon." Everyone present knew that he was referring specifically to Leroux.

_Oh, thank you, Bagman_, Jen thought, a wicked grin making its way onto her face even as rage continued to roil in her belly. _Between Delacour's general haughtiness and Maxime's little diatribe just now, I think I know who I'll be going after first. There's a lot that can be done that isn't considered _'potentially lethal'.

"All right, I think that's everything. Champions, leave your pendants in the basket in front of the staff table. Everyone else, please clear the room so we can take the mirrors down before the house-elves get mad at us for delaying dinner!"

Still fuming, she ripped the necklace, which she supposed was the Portkey that had returned them to the Great Hall, from her neck and threw it into its receptacle. She was about to storm off when one of the _last_ people she wanted to talk to right now approached.

"Miss Black, I would like to have a quick word with you if that's all right," Dumbledore asked genially.

* * *

Due to the rain and the limited capacity of the Great Hall, the non-student spectators were forced to watch the progress of the Tasks from another room, though an eighth mirror focused on Bagman allowed them to hear what scores the champions received.

_As well as Jen's little blow-up_, Cissy thought with exasperation tinged by not a little sympathy. _Maxime was right that she still has much to learn about comporting herself in public and using displays of anger only where they will be most effective, but I completely understand why she was so upset. What kind of fool would select one of Potter's friends as her hostage and then penalize her when she left him to look for the person she had reason to believe was her true goal?_

She had to wait a few minutes for the throngs of teenagers to move past the doorway; though she kept a lookout, she failed to see the distinctive white dragonhide coat. _Odd. Where in the world would she be?_ She laid her wand flat in her palm. "_Point Me_ Jen." The cedar focus spun swiftly before pointing back in the direction of the Great Hall. Spotting Sirius still caught up in a discussion, though perhaps more properly termed a polite argument, with another spectator on the scores awarded, she shrugged and made her way across and a few doors down the corridor.

"For the last time, Headmaster, _no_."

The iron and heat in her niece's voice forced Narcissa to walk even faster. Slipping through the partially closed doors, she found Jen and Dumbledore in a standoff. "What is going on here?"

"Ah, Mrs. Malfoy, what a surprise. This is nothing you need to concern yourself with—"

"_I_ will be the judge of that, Dumbledore." She looked at Jen and, her voice considerably softer, asked, "What was the headmaster requesting of you?"

"He is _insisting_ that I give up my vambrace. I've already told him repeatedly that I won't, especially considering how he has _yet_ to return my gloves, but he refuses to take no as an answer."

_You might have a Snake's heart, my darling niece, but it seems you do not how to exploit every option available to you. That will be an essential skill when you eventually become Lady Black, but don't worry about it overmuch. We still have plenty of time to work on that_. "The elemental gloves? Under what authority have you claimed artifacts belonging to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, Professor Dumbledore?"

She had to withhold a grin as his lauded mind stopped in its tracks; it could not be denied that she greatly enjoyed derailing his plots. Some people just needed to be reminded repeatedly that they were not as all-powerful as they liked to think they were, and the old goat was certainly one of the worst of them. Finally recovering, he explained, "There were questions raised about the safety of her secondary focus, and as the headmaster of this school, I was well within my purview to confiscate them for my investigation."

"The previous Task was seven weeks ago. Surely a competent wizard would have been able to verify that they were perfectly safe and then return them by this point in time." He bristled despite — or perhaps because of — her bland tone, but before he could interject, she continued, "Regardless, they are the property of our House, and as an adult representative of said House, I am well within _my_ purview to request you return them. Immediately."

"I cannot," replied Dumbledore simply. "As I was going to say had you allowed me the chance, in the course of my investigation I determined that they were a hazard to Miss Black's safety. Therefore, it is my duty to keep them in my possession and away from where they may cause her harm."

Narcissa smirked. "Don't try to pull that nonsense with me; any rights or responsibilities you have over Jen _in loco parentis_ vanished the instant Sirius and I stepped foot inside these wards. Beyond that, those gloves belong, as I have said, to the House as a whole, and I would expect the Chief Warlock to know that he cannot confiscate a House's property without an appropriate warrant. Even if they _were_ hers alone, we allowed her to use that focus, and familial permission will _always_ trump your authority." She smiled brightly at his narrowed eyes and held out her hand. "Now, I am certain that you were simply _overzealous_ in your effort to protect my niece, so I am willing to keep this between us and not bring the DMLE in for what could be construed as _theft_ so long as you relinquish them to me."

"Very well." The old man had not risen to his various positions without knowing when to capitulate, but she was under no illusions that this was over. A wave of the knobby wand he wielded summoned a pair of red faux-leather gloves to his hand.

A harsh inhalation drew their attention. Jen's teeth were clenched, and she ground out, "What did you with the gems?"

_Oh, good girl. __**That **__is the way you play the game._ The young woman certainly _sounded_ angry, though her chin was not jutting out as it would were she in actuality. Similarly, the family had discovered thanks to Sirius's ill-conceived werewolf prank that ire lent a certain harshness to her normally melodious voice that was likewise absent. _Keeping a cool head while projecting the emotion that you want your audience to __**think**__ you are feeling. We'll make a proper politician out of you yet._

Of course, no matter how well she was doing at the moment, Jen was still too green to go up against someone of Dumbledore's experience. "She asks a very good question. What exactly _did_ you do to our artifact while you were clearly bumbling about with it?"

"This is why I said this was too dangerous to stay in her possession. When subjected to standard analysis spells, it violently discharged, scorching my desk and burning me. If she was able to replace the jewels, there is no telling what would happen if that incident occurred again while she was wearing the gloves."

"So, what you are telling me is that due to your ignorance and egotism, you ruined a unique secondary focus that has been in our family for generations, then refused to return it in order to hide the evidence of your malfeasance?" she asked seriously, and he grimaced. "This cannot be ignored, but the Lord Black currently has no reason to wish your reputation sullied. Therefore, as a recognized representative of our House, I am willing to offer you the chance to settle this matter out of court." They could probably get more compensation if the situation was presented to a judiciary committee, but it was better that he take her offer. Forging documentation to back up their claim would be a hassle and had no guarantee of success, not that Dumbledore was aware of this.

He sighed, though she knew he knew keeping this private was in his best interests as well. "Very well, I shall authorize the goblins to send reparations to your family's vault. How much was it worth?"

"600 galleons."

_I wonder if I should have asked for more just to give him a heart attack_, she thought as she watched Dumbledore choke. She had pulled a number out of thin air, knowing full well that Jen had bought the gloves in a Muggle store for just a few sickles.

"You are surely joking. That much is highway robbery!"

_You have __**no**__ idea_. "Headmaster, I must remind you that your foolishness destroyed a centuries-old, one-of-a-kind, multi-elemental secondary focus. If anything, I am _underestimating_ its value. Would you prefer we bring this matter to Madam Bones's attention?" He paled minutely, and she knew she had him exactly where she wanted him. Amelia Bones had a reputation of incorruptibility and a well-known dislike for Dumbledore's occasional extralegal methods. Combined with the comments Jen had made about her friendship with Bones's niece, the old battle-axe would be relentless once she got her teeth into him.

"No, no, I'll pay it. The DMLE has too many other issues to waste their time on something this minor."

"I thought you would see it my way. Just so we can avoid this situation in the future, my niece has our full permission to use any secondary focus she believes will be of use to her. Now, useless though they now are, I will still be taking those back with me. It is clear you cannot be trusted with the belongings of House Black."

He held the gloves out to her but did not let go once she had hold of them. Leaning in, he whispered, "Possessions of your family or not, we both know that she did not have the permission of her _true_ guardians to use them. She may be a member of the House of Black on parchment, but _only_ on parchment. I am more than willing to bring this to the Wizengamot's attention if I need to."

"Oh? If you are so sure of your facts, why have you yet to do so?" she asked, her voice equally low.

"The Potters have enough to worry about right now with their son being entered into this Tournament against his will; going through a custody battle at the same time is a greater burden than they can reasonably be asked to bear. That said, unless you want her removed from under your influence entirely, I expect her to spend at least some of the summer with her _real_ family."

Narcissa stepped back, taking the gloves from his now-slack hands. "She _is_ with her real family, Dumbledore, and any steps you take to fight that will do nothing but bring you trouble you would much rather avoid. I expect the gold to be transferred by this time next week. Come along, Jen."

The pair walked out of the Great Hall and down a few hallways until they entered a room chosen at random. Narcissa waved her wand in an intricate pattern as she layered privacy spell after privacy spell on the walls and door; beside her, Jen's fingers danced as if they were spiders spinning an elaborate web in mid-air. When they had finally secured the room to their satisfaction, the girl remarked, "So he knows about my connection to the Potters. _That_ I was not expecting."

"Nor was I, though in retrospect I'm not terribly surprised. They have always been fairly close to the old coot; if I had to guess one person other than Sirius or Lupin who would know about Lily giving birth to twins, it would be him. Still, whether he knows doesn't matter in the long term." The woman fiddled with the white streaks in her otherwise dark hair for a moment, a nervous habit she had never been able to rid herself of fully, then asked, "You haven't been having any unexplained pain recently, have you?"

"No, Auntie, nor severe headaches, vomiting, muscle weakness, or trouble breathing. I think we are long past the point when there is any possibility of rejection. The procedure worked just fine."

"I know, I know, but that doesn't stop me from worrying, especially with Dumbledore now making threats. He only engages when he's sure he holds all the cards. What plans have you made for the summer?"

Jen cocked her head at the sudden non sequitur. "I expected to use that time learning the magical theory from third year classes, but the last half of second year abruptly becomes much more practical. If that continues to be the case in third as it has been this year, I should be able to get through almost all of it by the time I come home. Besides that, it would just be adjusting to being able to see again and possibly getting started on a project for next summer."

"Good. In that case, you're going to spend quite a bit of your break in the library. If Dumbledore is getting ready to make a move, you need to know as much of the law as Ted, Andi and I can force inside that pretty little head of yours. From here on out, we're playing for keeps."

* * *

Jen found all seven of her closest friends waiting for her at a table in the far back of the library. "So you immediately thought of me when you heard you had a hostage inside, huh?" Kenneth said with a laugh.

"Not at all," she replied dryly. "I had simply already spoken with everyone else here over lunch. Trust me when I say that yours was the _last_ name to go through my mind."

Padma huffed. "And instead you got Ron Weasley. Please, in what messed up world does that make sense? That decision came as a surprise to everyone as far as I could tell. I don't know that you've exchanged five words with him this year."

She pushed down the surge of fury at the reminder of the judges' utter incompetence, though with how the day had gone so far, it took much more effort than was normal. "I don't think so, either. Between his table manners, overall public behavior, and general disdain towards intelligence, I have never felt the need to. Out of curiosity, who were the other hostages?"

"Besides you and Delacour, they were all their champions' Yule Ball dates," answered Luna. "Someone said that Delacour's was her little sister."

"At the very least, it was a pint-sized Veela," Tracey cut in. "Both her and Potter's hostage were underwater, so we didn't get a detailed enough picture to tell anything for sure other than that they shared hair color. We have no idea who Leroux's hostage was; a large rock fell out of the ceiling on his head twenty minutes into the Task, so he was Portkeyed to the hospital wing along with the hostages.

"I have to say, though, that watching him get knocked out wasn't the best part. You definitely provided the biggest laughs."

Jen cocked her head. "I did? How?"

"Come on, your boggart?" Her ire rose again. "I mean, seriously, you _do_ know that continuing your family line means you're eventually going to have to pop out a sprog or two."

"Tracey, enough. This is _not_ something you want to joke about right now."

"I beg to differ; this is _priceless_. You make yourself out to be all big and bad, but on the inside, you're afraid of dealing with a little girl who's skinned her knee! Tell me how that isn't funny."

Jen's temper — already frayed from running around on a wild goose chase for an hour, fighting swarms of Acromantulas, receiving an unjustifiably low score, and having her family threatened by the Light bastard who had authority over her for ten months out of the year — finally snapped. Shooting to her feet, her hand shot out and grabbed Tracey's collar. She pulled the girl across the table so they were nose to nose and hissed, "Tracey Davis, for all that you're my best friend, you're also a stupid, senseless bitch, you know that? Do you ever engage your brain before you run your bloody mouth? You had better learn to curb your tongue before you finally brass off someone enough that they _cut the damn thing out_." She shoved the shocked Slytherin back into her seat. "And for your edification, that girl was _not_ crying because she suffered some minor injury. She had just been thrown out of the only house she knew and was soon to be split in half by _four angry trolls_."

Tracey's face grew cold as Jen's message sunk in. She lowered herself to her chair, knowing exactly where her words would take her friends' thoughts. All of them had been present when she spilled the secret of her little _misadventure_ in the London alleyways, though they did _not_ know that that had happened a full year after Vernon Dursley abandoned her on an empty sidewalk. They may have cornered her a few months ago and forced her to tell them the broad strokes of her life, but there was still a great deal of her history they were in the dark about.

Besides, being treated like a house elf by a family of Muggles was not something that fit the doctored backstory she had given them.

"Jen, I'm sorry," the ashamed girl whispered. "You're right, I didn't stop and think. That that might have been you when you were little never even crossed my mind."

"_That_ was obvious."

Tracey winced. After a moment, she sighed. "Did you know that my boggart is a dead baby fox?"

"No, I did not." For some reason, only Kenneth and Luna shared her surprise. "The rest of you knew?"

"Yeah, Professor Lupin had us all face a boggart in his first class last year. She was… kind of a laughingstock for a while after that got out," Morag explained.

"No one bothered to ask about the story behind it. When I was little, my mum bought me a rabbit for a pet. I absolutely adored playing with Bunnikens — I was four!" she snarled as the group tried and mostly succeeded in holding back their snickers. "_Anyway_, I spent every moment when I wasn't in lessons out on the lawn with him. I was late coming back inside one day, so my tutor summoned me inside the house and refused to let me go back out to get him until we were done. That particular arse generally taught for three hours at a time, but he pushed it up to five that day to _'teach me to follow my schedule'_.

"By the time I got back out to look for him, he was gone. I finally found him right at sundown." Her sneer at her tutor's behavior dropped, and she sniffed so softly that it was only thanks to Jen's superior hearing that she noticed it at all. "A family of foxes had made a den on our property, and the mother killed him to feed her kits. I walked up on them while they were eating, my bunny's guts spilled out and big chunks bitten off of him. I was so _mad_, mad and sad and hurt. That is the first I can remember doing accidental magic; the whole den just kind of blew up like a poorly-cast _Confringo_. Doing that just made everything worse. Bunnikens was still dead, but now there were burnt and broken fox babies around him, too. My grandfather was the first to find me and, being the bastard that he is, said that I obviously couldn't be trusted to take care of an animal. That's why I'm one of the only people in our year not to have a pet; my family always says that _'half-bloods don't deserve any spending money'_, so I haven't been able to buy one on my own, either.

"That scene was burned in my head, and I think I woke up every night for a couple of months screaming from a nightmare where those dead foxes snuck into my room and started eating _me_. Mum finally took me to a Mind Healer after not even Calming Draughts or an _Obliviate_ got rid of it; he said I was so deeply traumatized that it had actually become a permanent part of my subconscious and that the best we could hope for was pushing it far enough down that it wouldn't affect my normal life. I had to have daily counseling with him for six months and then weekly for another three years before he deemed me _'sufficiently stable as to no longer require ongoing therapy'_. He couldn't say I was _cured_ because… well, boggart. I can't cast any explosive spells, either; my magic just refuses to do it."

A sigh escaped the Slytherin as she looked up and reached across the table for Jen's hands. "That was the reason I found your boggart so funny. _'Here's one that is even more laughable than mine'_, I thought. I never considered that you might have just as good of a reason as I do for it. Merlin, Jen, I am _so_ sorry."

Jen gave their joined hands a squeeze. "It's all right. I want to apologize as well; the reason I snapped at you so hard is that I can't punch Maxime or Dumbledore like I want to." A thought crossed her mind, and the corners of her mouth curled. "You're just a couple of weeks younger than me, right?"

"Yeah, why?"

"You can't buy a pet on your own, but if you got one as a birthday present from the heiress of the House of Black, your grandfather wouldn't be able to refuse it, not without being rude in the extreme."

Tracey snickered. "Oh, Jen, you are an evil, evil witch."

"Plots aside," Susan interrupted, "why do you want to hit Dumbledore?"

_Wait, didn't she say her aunt was the head of the DMLE?_ Holding off a smirk, she answered, "He confiscated the focus I used in the wandless duels and refused to return it until Aunt Narcissa threatened to sic your aunt on him, even though it has belonged to our House for generations."

"He WHAT?!"

* * *

**Since I had some comments about this last chapter, this is NOT a cliffhanger. The scene stops here.**

**I want to take a moment to thank four reviewers specifically. The suggestions I received from bissek, del-Cormic, garsdal, and smeehee really helped flesh out the Cissy vs Dumbledore scene. Also, please recall that both my stories use a monetary exchange of 1 galleon to 25 pounds (or 50 dollars if you're an uncouth American like me). Cissy just swindled the old man out of £15,000 / $30,000 for a $20 pair of gloves!**

**Oh, and speaking of Narcissa. While it is not **_**impossible**_** that a family known for children with black or dark brown hair would produce a blonde girl, it is **_**highly**_** unlikely, especially since both her sisters have dark hair. Somehow, I don't see her being willing to bleach her hair to look the same as her husband and son. The movie portrayal of Narcissa with those piebald streaks seems much more realistic to me.**

**What is it with me and traumatizing my female leads? Looking at all my stories, I've done it to **_**six**_** main characters, eight if you count piling additional shit on Luna **_**twice**_**.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	29. Tragic Announcement

**skywiseskychan:** Except I _do_ like the girls! That's what makes it so strange.

**Riaan, Riskreader, TheWickedTruth89, Zarosian Chaos:** Dumbledore chose Ron as Jen's hostage in an attempt to push Jen to the Light. His exact reasoning is kind of convoluted, but suffice it to say that he believes that redemption is a natural desire for those who fall off the path of Light, even if some of them need a bit of a push (i.e., potions of various sorts) to get started. He might also be counting on Ron's hormones combining with his obsessive tendencies to land the Black heiress.

**WARNING! There's some gory material ahead.**

**Disclaimer:** Did Harry mourn a boy he barely knew more than the owl who had been with him basically since he found out about magic? If so, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.

* * *

**Chapter 29  
****Tragic Announcement**

**Hostage Mix-Up: Foolish Mistake or Deliberate Sabotage?**

_Resurrecting the Triwizard Tournament for the first time since 1792 has turned into a string of black eyes for Headmaster Albus Dumbledore_, writes Rita Skeeter. _Between Danny Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, entering his name under a fictitious fourth school and the outing of Care of Magical Creatures professor Rubeus Hagrid as a half-giant, it would normally be safe to assume that the headmaster would start paying closer attention to his actions. Unfortunately, this proved not to be the case during the third Task of the Tournament, which required all the champions to rescue hostages who "they hold near and dear to their hearts", in the words of Ludo Bagman, head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports as well as a member of the judging panel._

_Of the seven champions, five were tasked to retrieve the dates they went with to the Yule Ball that took place on Christmas Day this year. The senior Beauxbatons champion and Veela, Fleur Delacour, was after her eight-year-old sister, Gabrielle. For Hogwarts's junior champion Jennifer Black, on the other hand, the hostage chosen was one Ronald Weasley, the son of Arthur Weasley of the Ministry's Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office and a close friend of Danny Potter. What makes this so unusual is that, as far as several students who spoke to this reporter were aware, Miss Black and Mister Weasley have never been seen in each other's presence aside from mandatory class attendance, and even then they have little to no interaction._

_Why, then, was Miss Black assigned such an unsuitable partner, allegedly at the request of Dumbledore, and then penalized for continuing her search for someone with whom she was more than minor acquaintances? Some might say that this was clearly an honest mistake on the headmaster's part, just another sign of his diminishing mental facilities, but according to one source close to the situation, it is simply the latest in a series of actions geared to disadvantage the fourth-year student._

"_Dumbledore has had it out for her from the very beginning," the individual, who wished to remain anonymous, told this reporter. Indeed, a look at the previous Tasks lends some credence to this suspicion. As some might remember from a previous article, when Miss Black killed the Antipodean Opaleye she faced during the Gryffindor Task (the first documented dragon slaying since Matthew Abbott's battle with a juvenile Welsh Green in 1836), she was not awarded full marks as would be expected, instead being ranked fourth alongside Danny Potter. There was no obvious discrimination during the Slytherin Task itself, but Dumbledore later confiscated the priceless secondary focus wielded by the girl, a pair of gloves allowing manipulation of multiple elements that have been part of her family's legacy for generations, and supposedly attempted to keep them for himself._

_If successful, this action could have earned him ten years in Azkaban, a massive step down for the man credited with the defeat of Grindelwald._

_Though Miss Black's parentage is not listed in the Ministry's Hall of Records, Lord Sirius Black, her legal guardian, has affirmed that she is a true member of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black and is, in fact, that House's heiress. Why, then, is Dumbledore so insistent on sabotaging a future pillar of our society? Is it to promote Danny Potter in the eyes of the public after his abhorrent display of arrogance and dishonesty? To bring low the House of Black, which has traditionally stood against Dumbledore's interests in the Wizengamot? Or is there some other reason? All that is sure is that the Daily Prophet will continue to seek answers._

Narcissa smirked slightly as she folded the morning paper; there were more ways to trash an old schemer's plans than direct attacks. A little gold here, a few hints to point her patsy in the right direction there, and she could sit back and relax while the reporter slung mud all over Albus-sodding-Dumbledore's sterling reputation. _So you want to go after my niece, you old goat? Definitely not the smartest move you could have made_.

"Something interesting, Narcissa?"

She waved off her husband's inquiry. "Just Rita Skeeter roasting Dumbledore for his recent behavior. She might be a sensationalist muckraker, but she can be amusing when the mood strikes her."

"Irritating gossip-monger," Lucius replied uninterestedly from the opposite side of the table. "Pass me the sports column, would you? I have a hundred-galleon wager riding on how badly the Bats flattened the Cannons yesterday."

* * *

"_Hey, my parents need a babysitter for my little sister this summer. You interested, Black?"_

A humanoid figure, its face malformed, had its skin violently shredded before it collapsed into soil.

"_How many kids do you think you'll have? Or would even one be too much for you?"_

Another's intestines ripped their way out of its abdomen and wrapped tightly around its throat before it joined its fellow in nonexistence.

"_Probably a good thing you were an only child, Black. I don't think you'd have survived growing up with siblings!"_

Jen spun around, magic rushing out of her in waves, and the third and final simulacrum exploded into dust from the effect of a blood-boiling curse. She took deep gulps of air as sweat poured down her bare skin, her blouse discarded after becoming drenched within the first half-hour.

According to her watch, that had been nearly an hour of virtual carnage earlier.

_Do I want to eat in the Great Hall or the kitchens?_, she wondered as she conjured a fluffy towel and began drying off. The former offered time to socialize with her friends, who she knew had been worried about her of late, but it also promised having to deal with everyone else, which was probably not the best idea considering her current emotional state.

The lone door leading into the training room chose that minute to creak open. "Ms. Black? Are you all ri— Oh, my!" The diminutive Charms Master whirled around and faced away from her. "I am terribly sorry, my dear. I would have knocked if I had known you were… well…"

"It's fine, Professor," she sighed, cutting off his babbled apology. Vanishing the moisture on her flesh despite how it left her fiercely desiring a warm shower, she finished the rough toweling of her hair. No matter how hard she tried, magic simply could not get rid of all the water clinging to the kinked strands. A crooked finger summoned her shirt to her, and a few moments later she said, "Okay, I'm decent now."

Flitwick turned cautiously, as if he were unsure that she was dressed as she claimed. He uncomfortably cleared his throat. "Well, this is certainly a more awkward situation than I expected. I had no intention of finding you in that state of undress, Ms. Black, I assure you."

"As I said, don't worry about it. If I was that concerned about someone walking in on me half-naked, I would have locked the door or not taken my top off at all." She snapped her fingers to conjure a pair of overstuffed armchairs. Sinking gratefully into one, she asked, "How did you even know I was in here?"

He grinned weakly and leaned back in his much-smaller seat as he waved his hand to indicate the entire dueling room he had brought her to before the first Task. "You aren't the only one who occasionally uses this room to blow off some steam; in fact, I think I spend an hour or so in here after nearly every staff meeting. I am curious about one thing, however. What's with the dirt?"

She gestured lazily, and yet another figure rose from the earth she had flown up to the open balcony. A second later it collapsed, a sharp shard of ice splitting its head in half. "Much more effective in releasing pent-up aggression than casting spell after spell at the shields on the walls." She conjured a glass and filled it with cold water wrung from the air before taking a sip. "So… Why were you looking for me?"

"I may not have started off the year keeping as watchful an eye out for my Ravens as I should have, but that is something I am attempting to change. I've noticed that you have been distracted for the past fortnight or so."

Her short guffaw was mocking. "_'Distracted'_ is one way to describe it, I suppose. I swear, if I have to hear one more person make some 'scared of children' joke about me, I don't think I'll be able to stop myself from tossing them out the nearest window."

"I don't know how much I can help with _that_, but if you want, I can have a talk with your housemates—"

"Except it's not really the jokes in and of themselves that are irritating," she interrupted. "It's the ignorance behind them. I have no problem dealing with children. Hell, before I enrolled here, I had a dozen or two kids, mostly orphans, calling me _'Mama Jen'_." She had, admittedly, been shocked the first time she was addressed as such; most nine-year-old girls would be. After some reflection, however, she knew that such a title was not undeserved. Robert, the owner of Candyland, viewed the club purely as a profit engine, but to her and the other prostitutes, it was also the closest thing they had to a home. She had been the one keeping the books so they would have food and clothes, healing injuries when clients got a little too _boisterous_, and hiding them from the bobbies who refused to keep their noses to themselves. Entirely unintentionally, she had fulfilled a maternal role in many of her younger coworkers' lives, a number that grew to encompass all of them when Robert had realized her magic and intelligence made her much too valuable a resource to throw out like he did all the other staff undergoing precocious puberty.

_I really should stop by sometime this summer and check how everyone's doing, especially considering how suddenly I left. It's a good thing I trained Drew and Paula so they would be able to run the place without me._

She shook herself from her reverie as she felt the curiosity wafting off the head of Ravenclaw house. "My boggart represents a period in my life when I was in the midst of a number of unfortunate events occurring near-simultaneously. It is not a time I like reminiscing about, yet every quip and comment, however humorous they are meant to be, cause me to do just that."

While admiration and respect from the student population as a whole was one of her ultimate goals, she only realized how far she had truly progressed when noting just how _few_ people were using the opportunity to attack her. Draco was an obvious one; he had not forgotten the very public humiliation she set him up for after relaying his deplorable behavior to Cissy, and though Slytherin house had amused themselves greatly by taking their pounds of flesh, he had eventually begun climbing his way back up the social ladder to reclaim his former place. Potter, too, had launched a few barbs, though his lacked the practiced bite of her cousin's. Lions generally fought with their wands, not their words. Even the French boys had joined in occasionally, goaded into it, of course, by their darling Veela champion.

Another main source of condescension was, unsurprisingly, Daphne Greengrass. The heiress of that Most Noble House had developed an intense dislike for Jen upon her discovery that Tracey had abandoned her for the Black scion. Though Greengrass disdained the Davis girl for her Muggleborn mother, she had apparently derived some sadistic amusement from keeping Tracey all to herself. When Jen arrived on the scene, however, Tracey switched allegiances without even a _hint_ of hesitation, leaving her bereft of her favorite game. She had stayed out of Jen's way for the most part, demonstrating the self-preservation instincts the house of Snakes was known for, but this was excellent timing for her to needle the girl disturbing the school's status quo.

In general, however, it was not truly a shock that relatively few legitimate insults were loosed in the wake of her boggart's reveal. The politically-minded among the students, even those who did not know her or who disliked her for whatever reason, were unwilling to insult a member of the Darkest of the three remaining Ancient and Most Noble Houses. For those who cared not for politics…

Well, disparaging someone who had demonstrated the ability to slay dragons as a teenager was rarely a good idea.

The two sat in silence for several minutes, Jen reclaiming the fluids that she had lost during her exercise and Flitwick sipping from a cup of tea a house-elf had brought him. Finally, she vanished the glass and gathered the soil scattered about the floor, compressing it into a cube and transfiguring the surface to metal to contain it until the next time she desperately needed to kill something. "Professor, I've been meaning to ask you something since the last Task but never got around to doing so. At what age is it no longer considered impossible for powerful witches and wizards to start displaying wandless abilities?"

"I'm not really sure," he said thoughtfully. "So few people have the potential for it at all, and even then it is rare that they progress beyond a few simple spells such as summoning and finishing charms, not to mention that that timeframe would shift depending on power level. I do know that accomplishing a little wandless magic only a few years after reaching magical maturity isn't _impossible_, exactly, just extremely uncommon; managing a wandless _Protego_ used to be a requirement for enrollment in the final year of Auror training before the war against You-Know-Who, which is one reason they have always been such a small group. There is just a certain level of raw _power_ necessary to fight the Dark Arts effectively.

"If you're asking when people would develop the skill to use magic as freely as you do, however, the answer is never. Even amongst witches and wizards considered to be the strongest of their generation, you are an anomaly."

She huffed in displeasure. "_Damn_. I was hoping for an answer more along the lines of _'Oh, they first start harnessing their powers at sixteen, seventeen'_, or at least some time close to that. This wand-waving business is becoming," she laughed mirthlessly, "no offense, but a major source of irritation. And it's not like there is a plethora of other options for a primary focus."

"There isn't much variety, is there? Wands, staves, rods like those used by the Egyptians… I believe the Gypsies have rings and bangles that aid them in their unique runeless enchanting, but those don't perform active casting. A confluence of ley lines can function as a focus according to some sources, but only at certain times and with the proper preparation. Potions, runes, and rituals if you wish to be technical. Whatever other foci people used before the Romans spread their culture and their wands across Europe have been lost to the mists of time."

"What about goblins? What do they use for _their_ magic?" she asked.

"Ms. Black! I cannot reveal the secrets of the Goblin Nation, no matter that it represents only a quarter of my blood." He leaned closer and whispered, "Rune-engraved hammers to imbue magic into the metals being forged into weapons and armor, along with a number of secondary foci for more esoteric purposes. Goblin magic is not as _flexible_ as a human's."

She chuckled in return before her soft smile faded. "So what would you suggest I do? While blowing things up is a good distraction, I'm not sure it will be enough for another three years here, and then there's being in the public eye afterwards."

"The first step would be to stop asking questions when you already know the answer," he replied with surprising confidence. "You don't have a problem with pretending to use a focus; your dislike is centered around the intricate movements wielding a _wand_ requires. Tell me, Ms. Black, with a family history spanning longer than a thousand years, how many secondary foci do you think are inside your vaults?"

At his question, her mouth dropped open in shock before a wicked grin formed. "Oh, given summer vacation to look through them, I bet I could 'find' a fair few."

"See?" he asked as he patted her hand gently. "It won't give you all the freedom you desire, I'm sure, but I'll let you in on a little secret to keep you going in the meantime. Once you graduate Hogwarts, no one is going to _care_ what motions or words you use — or more importantly, _don't_ use — for your spells."

* * *

On Wednesday, the twelfth of April, the Headmaster stood solemnly at the podium during the tail end of breakfast, and the whole school grew silent in preparation for his announcement. "It is with great regret that I must tell you all that we have tragically lost a member of our Hogwarts family. Blaise Zabini, fourth-year Slytherin, slipped beyond the Veil last night in his sleep."

Jen stilled. She knew that this was coming, that Zabini would eventually attempt to prey on another student in person or their dreams and thereby violate the magical vow she had ensured he did not remember; she just hadn't known _when_.

"Many of you were not close to Mr. Zabini, but I know you feel his absence just as keenly as I and the other members of staff do. Therefore, please stand and raise your glasses in remembrance of the loss of this life, so young and with such promise ahead of him."

_Loki, I __**really**__ need you to be in my room when I get there. We don't have a whole lot of time before the DMLE starts poking around. They're possibly on route right now._

Dumbledore nodded at them while magic washed over the drapes behind the staff table. "The other heads of house and I will be busy contacting Mr. Zabini's family, so classes are cancelled for the morning. Please allow his friends the space with which to grieve."

"You okay?" Lisa Turpin asked gently. "I mean, you did go to the Yule Ball with him."

She waved off the girl's words. "Thank you for your concern, but I'm fine. We only had the one date; we just weren't right for each other. His death is certainly a shame, though." Flashing her housemate a comforting smile that was just weak enough for the circumstances, she stood and left with the other students taking advantage of the canceled classes. _It's obvious that the old man is long removed from his teenage years if he honestly thinks most people here give a damn about Zabini keeling over. He's not __**their**__ friend, so why would it matter to them?_ She slipped into an alcove and bent the surrounding light around her to render herself invisible before lifting off the floor. No longer earth-bound, she quickly flew outside and up to the warded dormitory window she habitually left open for her familiar to pass through as he wished. It took some self-transfiguration to fit through the narrow space, but soon she was inside where her raven waited patiently.

"I need you to hide these for a while," she told him as she summoned her ritual kit and the books on Voodoo, as well a few texts she had borrowed from the family library detailing much darker magic than was touched on in the castle. Conjuring a pouch, she shrank everything and stuffed her belongings inside before tying it to Loki's leg. "I'll recall you when the investigators have left, but it might be for the best if you stick around fairly close by." She frowned and continued, "I know that centaurs live in the Forest, but I've also heard rumors about wild Acromantula skulking around as well. Just… keep an eye out, okay? I'd hate to have to search for your corpse out there."

The bird croaked dismissively before he slammed his foot against the front of the dresser he was sitting upon, burying his front talons up to their cuticles. Pulling back carved three deep furrows into the wood.

"Yes, sweetie, I know you're strong. I'm the one who _made_ you that way, after all." The familiars created through the Black Arts were anything but normal pets; they were creatures bound to their masters' lives and enhanced far beyond the limits of their species. Faster, stronger, smarter, they were a black witch's final layer of defense against outside interference while she was occupied with whatever ritual she was working. Many were kept wild so as to preserve their instincts, being bent to the will of their masters through magic rather than years of love between animal and human. Loki had been like that at first, though lately she had been wondering if the second kind of bond was beginning to form as well.

Familiars, or at least those of Voodoo practitioners, were also unkillable so long as their creators lived. Oh, they could be mortally wounded, and they would certainly _seem_ dead, but their ties to the living world when combined with a ritual similar to that for the reanimation of zombies would resurrect them. Damaged tissue would be healed, and any missing portions would be filled in with ectoplasm.

Jen swore that Elsie's Bull Terrier had been more ghost than flesh when the woman finally kicked the bucket.

Not even the utter destruction of a familiar's body was enough to separate it from its master. Should something ever happen to Loki that left her unable to retrieve his body, she could still recall him, but as a semi-tangible spirit that, according to her books, was much like a Patronus in appearance if not necessarily function. Though she knew all this, she was still loath to risk his demise. The raven had never experienced a single false death, not even after he had fallen sick when she was eleven and required months of tender care that a simple resurrection would have cured instantly. Something… _changed_ about Voodoo familiars upon being brought back for the first time, made them less affectionate and more likely to throw themselves into a fight that would result in them being once more incapacitated. They were far too independent to be true zombies, but the similarities in other ways were disturbing.

She lifted Loki from his perch and kissed his breast while he ever-so-gently nibbled on the shell of her ear. With much concern, she carried him to the window and tossed him into the air outside.

_You better stay safe. You're the first friend I ever had, and I don't know what I would do should I lose you._

* * *

Albus sighed heavily as he looked down at the still form on the bed. _Such a waste_, he thought. Bigot and a minor bully the boy might have been according to his staff's reports, but death meant the child would never be able to repent for his youthful mistakes. Around him, the other teachers were equally dismayed; even Severus's sneer had diminished slightly. "All right, Poppy. What can you tell us?"

"Not much, I'm afraid. There are no signs of trauma, internal lesions, spell echoes, or any other magical effects present. I found no potions in his system, either." The nurse shivered weakly. "The closest comparison I can make… is to some of the bodies I ran across during the war."

_The Killing Curse_. "Severus, I know the Slytherin dorms report the use of lethal magic just as the others do. Was _that_ curse cast last night?"

The dour man shook his head, knowing where Albus's mind had carried him. "It most certainly was not, Headmaster. If it had, the perpetrator would be before us right now."

"Then I am at a loss. Were there _any_ abnormalities in your examination?"

"W-Well, there was one," Poppy answered hesitantly. She blushed at his silent prompting. "Several of my diagnostic spells seemed to… fizzle out when they reached him?"

His white eyebrows rose to his hairline, and he whipped out the dark, knobby wand that was his burden to bear in this life. Though his own spell did not _'fizzle out'_, per se, he _did_ detect a slight lessening of the information it reported back. "Magical nihilism? How odd. I have only ever encountered this phenomenon when analyzing freshly transmuted materials."

"He broke a magical vow." The rest of the staff present turned to where the librarian shuffled her feet uncomfortably. "The results of Osmos and Drane's experiments in 1892 to 1894 proved quite definitively that the violation of a magical vow siphons off all the magic in the person's core, which thereby leaches the energy from that individual's body indirectly. When the oath-breaker dies, it takes the same amount of time for magic to return to the tissues from the environment as it would for the core to recharge, approximately ten to twelve hours."

"Thank you, Irma." She looked away from the astonished eyes of her colleagues, none of whom appeared to have ever thought about her as anything more than an antisocial bookworm.

The truth was quite different.

Much like Trelawney, the occasionally irascible woman was someone Albus had brought to the castle for her own protection. Irma Pince, formerly Irene Fitzpatrick, had been the senior traffic director at the Floo Network Authority prior to Tom's rise to power, when her incredible skill at manipulating the routes between grates to redistribute demand and decrease travel time had earned her intense curiosity on the part of the new Dark Lord. She was what had been known in his childhood as a _'Living Pensieve'_: someone with perfect recall and a particular understanding of intricate and convoluted systems. Where the Ministry had used her talent to optimize transportation and communication, Tom sought to capture and break her so he might turn her into his own personal campaign map. She had appreciated Albus's concern and the quick actions of the Order that had saved her life, but the loss of her husband, her former identity being declared dead, and a large proportion of Death Eaters buying their freedoms and slithering back into society had forced her to accept a new occupation as the school's librarian, which rapidly soured her disposition. She now spent much of her time — when not chasing rowdy students away from the stacks, of course — reading through Hogwarts's vast collection of books in an attempt to keep herself too busy to reminisce about what had been.

Returning his thoughts to the present as well, the Leader of the Light turned back to the body in front of him. "I have no doubt that Irma is correct, but I do not see how violating an oath would have caused his death. Magic is not essential to life, after all."

"You're assuming the lad's human," Alastor muttered gruffly. "In that case, nay, it doesn't make sense. Through that out. If he's not human, or not all the way, what would he have to be for losing his magic to make him kick the bucket?"

Filius hummed to himself for a moment. "Where pure creatures are concerned, we can rule out most of them from the simple fact that they can easily be distinguished from humans. He isn't Veela, siren, or kitsune for the obvious reason that he is male. Lamia and glashtyn — most shapeshifting fae, for that matter — regress to their natural forms upon death. Incubi haven't been seen in this country in over a century. If he were partially human, however, there are any number of species he could be descended from. It is impossible for us to determine."

"And we can't assume that just because they do not share the same father that the other Zabini children do not also have creature blood," Minerva murmured. "Albus, what will the Ministry's reaction be once they learn of this?"

"You know that as well as I do. Fudge would push for the family to be investigated, and if, or likely _when_, the children's part-human natures are revealed, he'd order them registered as Dark creatures and that they be denied education at Hogwarts, which I could and would prevent so long as I was headmaster. It would also, however, bar them from nearly every job found in our society. Lady Zabini would likely be chased out of the Wizengamot, as well, which means the laws she has pushed through improving the situation of many magical creatures would most certainly be repealed. All in all, it would be a great loss for Britain.

"Poppy, I would normally never ask this of you, but the circumstances in this case are quite delicate. Are you _sure_ that Mr. Zabini's death is not due to some natural cause?"

The woman seemed to catch on at once. "Albus! Are you honestly asking me to falsify official records?!"

"I am, for the sake of his younger siblings."

"But… What… I…"

"_Please_, my dear."

"All right," she finally whispered, her head hanging low in shame. "If you feel that it's truly in the best interest of the other children, I… I'll do it."

He nodded to her in solemn gratitude. If anyone could understand the pain of making sacrifices for the sake of the Greater Good, it would be him. The memory of a handsome blond man flashed in front of his eyes for a moment before he banished it back to the abyss. "I do indeed. Alastor?"

"Wouldn't be the first time I've fudged the parchmentwork," the retired Auror replied without hesitation. "Of course, that was generally to protect the guy who did the killing, not the dead one, but I can sign off on the autopsy results and death certificate saying that Pomfrey did everything by the book and there is no need for the body to be reexamined."

"You can do that?"

The law enforcement veteran nodded at Pomona as his electric blue eye rolled around in its socket. "Identifying cause of death isn't hard nine times out of ten; Hit Wizards and Aurors do it in the field all the time. I may be retired, but that doesn't mean I don't still know what I'm doing. Long as it's got my name on the form, no one at the DMLE is going to look at it twice.

"I'll do some digging on my own when I've got the time, Albus. It's a long shot, but maybe I can find who put him under a vow to start with or if he wasn't aware of what he was and did something stupid like swear that he'd never taint his line with creature blood. Don't expect much to come from it, though."

"Thank you, both of you," the headmaster said. "Severus, as Mr. Zabini's head of house, would you be willing to accompany me to the Zabini household? You would be able to give his mother a better impression of what he was like as a student than I can."

"I suppose I have little choice in the matter. Let us keep this visit short, if you do not mind."

"Very well. Could the rest of you ensure that the students are not becoming too rowdy? I will try my hardest to have Severus back well in time for classes to resume after lunch."

* * *

The teachers left through the hospital wing doors while Pomfrey cloistered herself in her office. Minutes later, a silencing charm was laid over her door, though it came not from the nurse's wand.

_I'm surprised Dumbledore would sweep everything under the rug like that_, Jen thought as she floated through the open window, _but I can't say this doesn't work to my advantage. No Aurors wandering about means less chance of getting caught_. She knew that Moody's eye was capable of seeing through objects, and rumor said that he had also caught the Weasley twins as they attempted to sneak up on him while they were under a disillusionment charm. As she did not want to test his eye against her invisibility, and had even less desire to be associated with Zabini any more than she already was, hiding in the room while the teachers met was out of the question.

Thankfully, she did not have to be present at all to eavesdrop on their conversation. It turned out that no matter how well the paranoid man's eye saw events occurring in his classroom, he could not pierce through enough walls to spot the girl spying on them via scrying mirror.

She made her way to the lone occupied bed, then threw a silencing charm onto the corridor entrance before applying avoidance spells to both doors. What she was about to do was immoral, illegal, and definitely not something she wanted to be caught at. Slipping her satchel off her shoulder, she pulled out the items she would need in the next few minutes.

It was time to render the little incubus.

_There are so many __**interesting**__ things that can be done with components taken from a murder victim, especially when you're the one who killed him in the first place_, she reflected while rolling a rough-hewn stone between her palms before setting it aside. _And while I may not be the biggest proponent of slaughtering people solely for their parts, when I have a magical being like a sexual vampire dropped in my lap, there is no chance I'm going to let him go to waste._

She pulled off the sheet covering the corpse and let it drop to the floor. Running a finger over Zabini's chest, she made three long cuts through skin and muscle; another pass over the center slice bisected the sternum underneath. With a flick of her wrist and the sharp sound of snapping ribs, she ripped his chest open like a clam. She picked up the stone again and quickly twisted space, replacing it with a thick, slurry-filled lump of muscle. She tilted her hand and let the partially coagulated blood drain out of the incubus's heart into a flask.

Of the many prizes she could take from a corpse, this was without a doubt one of the most valuable. Heartblood _epitomized_ life arithmantically, and it could take the place of a full sacrifice in the lesser Voodoo rituals. Blood magic using heartblood was immensely powerful, and it was also a necessity for the creation of such rare items as panaceas and homunculi. There were even whispers that this substance was the key ingredient in Nicholas Flamel's greatest creation, the philosopher's stone. For the plan cooking away in her mind, this fluid was going to be essential.

But that was for later. Jen moved the flask to one side and sent the organ back into its fibrous sac. Extending the vertical incision she had made and peeling away yet more flesh, she dug through the body's abdomen until she could access and remove the pancreas. Loki had been understandably irritated at being summoned back right after finding a secure location to hide himself and her kit away, and she intended to compensate him for it. The avian was a honeycomb fiend, but fresh pancreas would do in a pinch.

She moved her attention lower still. _Keep or leave?_, she wondered, her sonar weighing Zabini's testicles. Reproductive organs from this breed of emotiphage were highly prized, and if one were not afraid of dabbling in the dark, lust potions stronger and longer lasting than even Amortentia were possible. However, the length of time between rewriting his memory and his death meant that his incubus blood had not fully awakened until just the previous night. He was almost certainly still a virgin, and that would drastically reduce their potency.

_Besides, Elsie's lab still has a mostly-full jar of preserved testes and ovaries she bought off a Grecian wizard three, four years ago._ Moving her sonar over the corpse again, she debated about claiming more of the organs. _The liver and kidneys don't work if they're not salvaged and stored within a couple of hours, and little else of the digestive or urinary tract is valuable. About the only other useful thing would be gallstones, which he doesn't have. Incubi are too close to human for his lungs or spleen to hold significance, either._

Which just left the head.

_Here_ was the real treasure trove. Eyes, teeth, tongue, spinal fluid; all of these could be utilized in various rituals or sold to the right people for a tidy profit. She reached over to pluck out his eyes when Pince's words sprang to mind. _How often am I going to come across remains that have been totally stripped of magic? His tissues are basically sponges at this point, absorbing energy from their environment. If I kept some of them in a small circle in the lab to isolate them from the magic in this reality, I could preserve this deficiency, at least to some degree, which would make this __**incredible**__ for spiritual bindings. Waste not, want not, after all._

She slipped her hand under Zabini's neck and sliced through it with a crescent of fire to cauterize the edges, preventing the spinal fluid and what blood was contained in the head from spilling out. She then slipped the entire head, along with the flask of blood and the pancreas, into the satchel.

Now she just had to hide the evidence.

Picking up the stone she had switched with the heart, she positioned it at the stump of his neck to replace most of the stolen mass. She reached into her bag and examined the severed head with her sonar for a minute to be sure she could replicate its external structure, most importantly the faint touch of his skin pigmentation, down to the last detail. Her connection to the planet's reserves was widened as much as was safe; though she could transfigure just fine with the magic normally coursing through her body, this time she not only had to deal with magically drained materials, but the spell had to last for long enough that it failed only after the corpse was far away from here, and that meant more power was needed. Focusing on the feel of Zabini's head and the smooth expanse of chest he had once had, she changed the butchered remains to the state they had been in when she first entered the room. With any luck, he would be buried or cremated before the magic she had imparted ran out.

She covered him once again with the sheet before dispelling her security measures and leaping out the window. _Give Loki his treat, grab my dagger, teleport to Cardiff, and stick these remains inside a circle for further processing when I have a few free hours. I should be back for afternoon classes with plenty of time to spare._

* * *

Jen woke suddenly, her sonar filling her dorm. It had only been a few days since Zabini's death, and while she hid it well, she had been tense with worry. Had she left some minor clue as to her presence in the hospital wing? Was Moody investigating the boy's relationships, even the one with the girl he had only escorted to the Yule Ball? She had no idea exactly what magical police were capable of, but she knew that regardless of his paranoia, the crippled Defense professor had been one of the best in recent memory.

Assuring herself that it had been nothing more than her subconscious fears that roused her, she found a comfortable position and closed her eyes. They shot open again a moment later.

There was a difference! The change was minor, the world a dark grey rather than black, but the fact remained that light from the ever-burning candle on her desk she rarely bothered to blow out was entering her eyes. A doubt lurking in the back of her mind faded away with a whimper; she really would be able to see again!

She bustled to her dresser, far too excited now to return to sleep despite the early hour. If she was going to be up for the day, it was time for another dose of Snape's marvelous potion. Unstoppering the vial, she sucked up a small amount of liquid with an eyedropper and let a few drops fall into her right eye. She squeezed her eyelids tight, savoring the rapidly increasing burn that signified the potion's activity. When the pain finally grew too much, she cast a numbing charm and tried to ignore the disappointment that welled up when looking out of that eye revealed only the nothingness that had been in her life for so long. Magically numbing areas of the body cut off _all_ sensation: pain, temperature, touch, and apparently the special senses as well.

She had been in darkness for years. Why, then, was it so saddening now?

Her left eye was quickly numbed and medicated, and then she sat at her desk to read over her homework. She had an appointment with Pomfrey at the start of every month when she would pick up that month's vial, and the next was only a couple of weeks away. For the first time since this treatment regime began, she was actually looking forward to it.

* * *

**This chapter was a little more interlude-y than normal, I know, but there were a few loose ends I needed to tie up before the Hufflepuff Task. Incidentally, I seriously considered titling this "The Many Faces of Jen Black".**

**I didn't want to go into it in the main text, but for anyone curious as to the fate of Auror hopefuls who can't manage wandless magic, they're given the choice to become Hit Wizards, which, from what little information my research turned up, are essentially SWAT. Aurors, on the other hand, I see as combination military and FBI/Metropolitan Police Service, people trained to combat both dark mages and external threats. They truly are the best of the best.**

**Which means that Voldemort's Inner Circle was probably at about that same level, too. Yikes.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	30. No I in Team

**erbkaiser, Riskreader:** Jen will not lose her sonar when she regains her sight. In fact, as I said in chapter 20, _that_ rather than vision will remain her primary sense.

**Aealket, chaosglory626:** Luna's not in this chapter, unfortunately, and the way things are looking, she won't be in the next, either. I'm going to try to fit her in the one after that, though.

**Procusi, skywiseskychan:** According to the Potter Wiki (pretty much my last resort as far as info goes, and I've been known to toss some information from there out), the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol is the regular police force, Hit Wizards are "tasked with arresting dangerous criminals", and Aurors deal primarily with cases involving dark magic. The implicit assumption you two have about determining species is that spells for genetic analysis have been developed. I know things like that are common in fanfiction, but it's always seemed a bit "let's create magical analogues to technology we've only developed in the last fifty years" for my tastes. In my mental universe, blood magic — which, being classed as dark magic, is illegal for humans to practice in Britain — as well as certain potions can be used to determine parentage, but that's about it.

**Anono Mous:** I am not, in fact, an Avatar fan; I don't think I've ever watched a single episode.

**For everyone who doesn't read **_**Faery Heroes**_**, I put a poll on my profile. Feed me your opinions!**

**Disclaimer:** Was it Harry who suggested that he and Cedric take the Triwizard Cup together for a "Hogwarts victory" rather than the member of the "house of loyalty"? If so, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.

* * *

**Chapter 30  
****No "I" in Team**

Never before had Cedric been so glad for an early thaw as he was now. Thanks to winter yielding its iron grip on the weather a few weeks earlier than normal, the night air was merely chilly rather than bitingly cold. That did not, however, mean he wanted to be out here in the empty courtyard any longer than absolutely necessary. He muttered to himself, "The note I sent her did say 11:30, didn't it?"

"It did."

He barely held back an unmanly shriek as he jumped in surprise. Whirling around, he was treated to the sight of Jen Black melting out of the shadows, a sly smile dancing on her lips. "Oh, did I scawe widdle Cedwic? Perhaps a prefect would know there are consequences to luring a younger student out of her dorm past curfew," she finished in a normal voice.

"It's the only time we wouldn't have everybody in the whole school following us around," he replied hotly. "What took you so long, anyway?"

She shrugged nonchalantly. "Moody was patrolling the shortest route, so I had to backtrack a bit." Stepping closer to stand beside him, she remarked, "You know, most girls would be put out that arguably the cutest boy in school doesn't want to be seen with them after asking her out on a midnight rendezvous."

"Ask… out? No, no, that's not what I was doing at all! I mean… er…" he trailed off, seeing her quivering lips. Right when he was beginning to feel bad at unintentionally leading her on, a smirk replaced her depressed expression, and the clues fell into place. "Oh, you have a _cruel_ sense of humor."

"I know. So, where are we going? Your letter wasn't specific."

"Forbidden Forest, but we'll need to keep any faculty from spotting us. Do you know the disillusionment… charm?" Before his eyes and without making a single gesture, the Ravenclaw had faded from his sight. "How in Merlin's name?"

"Ring of Invisibility," came the answer, Jen's voice echoing from everywhere at once. It was a rather disconcerting sound, if he was honest with himself.

_How many secondary foci does this girl have?_ Shrugging, he cast his own stealth spell and opened the front gate just wide enough for them to slip through. Since neither student wore a silencing charm, they could hear each other clearly as they walked the grounds, allowing them to stick together in the darkness. The uncomfortable quiet lasted until they reached the edge of the woods, where, now safe from prying eyes, they removed their respective hiding spells. He began explaining as they passed between the trees. "I've got a friend, Geoffrey, who plans to enter the DMLE when he finishes school. He did a little digging around and found out yesterday that the judges aren't using the arena for this Task; instead, they've apparently cordoned off a small section of the Forest for us to run around in. I thought you might like to check it out with me."

"Be careful, Badger dear. Your scales are starting to show." His fellow champion sped up enough to draw even with him. "I'm curious, though; what made you think about doing reconnaissance beforehand this time?"

He hesitated a moment. "Couple of reasons, I suppose. The last two Tasks were all about gathering information and planning. I didn't do that for the Slytherin Task and got my arse handed to me because of it; hearing later that other champions had been watching me practice with my golem was a bit of a wake-up call. The Ravenclaw Task went better, but only because some of the egg's clues clued me in about the maze's obstacles. Even the _Gryffindor_ Task would have been impossible without knowing you telling me about the dragons the week before. Why would the Hufflepuff Task be any different?

"Also… I'm not proud of it, but I _really_ want to retake first place. I'm sure you know how most people call Hufflepuff the _'house of duffers'_ and say that we're tossed there because we're not good enough to get into any of the other houses. I'm sick and tired of listening to it year after year; by the time we leave Hogwarts, a bunch of us have heard it so much that we start believing it. It's said that Ravenclaw house gets treated like you're only good for doing other people's homework for them, so maybe you understand what I'm talking about."

"We're not used and abused quite as much as rumors might portray, but it does happen," Jen admitted with a nod of her head. "I had a Gryffindor in my classes try that with me early in the year, before the Tournament started. Some Irish boy; O'Findley, maybe? Anyway, he pretty much expected I'd be overjoyed to do all his assignments for him in exchange for a few minutes' attention from a proud Lion."

Now _that_ was interesting. Some dumb kid tried to take advantage of the girl who would later slay a dragon and win a pair of duels against people three years older, more knowledgable, and more experienced? "What did you do in response?"

"Hexed him so badly that he literally had to crawl out of the library. I don't take abuse like that from the Head of my own Family, so I'm definitely not going to roll over for some boorish teenager."

"I'll keep that in mind if I ever find myself needing _your_ help with anything again." He sighed and ran one hand through his hair in frustration. "Starting last year, when I joined the Quidditch team, my housemates finally had someone to put their pride behind. I beat Potter in the Quidditch match that year, and then the Goblet of Fire chose _me_ as Hogwarts's senior champion? I just… I can't let them down."

"Trust me, I understand. The younger Ravens have placed me on a pedestal as well." Again they were silent, though much of the awkwardness had vanished. Soon enough, they reached their destination. Cedric whistled while Jen muttered, "Did they have to make it so _big_?"

The enclosed space was, as far as his _Lumos_ showed him, probably two, three hundred feet wide, with the stadium seats from the arena framing one quarter of the circular boundary. Few of the trees had been removed, making tomorrow's Task even more difficult than it was already going to be. "Now I'm really, _really_ glad we decided to look around tonight."

"Me, too." The crafty Raven flicked her wand to send numerous balls of light through the field; twisted shadows appearing where once there had been total darkness just made the forest even more ominous. She then let her focus lay flat on her palm, and it spun a few times before pointing forwards and to their left. "We didn't come here to gawk at trees. Our base is this way."

* * *

_If I was forced to choose between regaining my sight and keeping my sonar, I'd more than happily stay blind_, Jen thought later as she hopped over yet another deep pit in the ground. The little lanterns she had created were keeping Cedric from breaking his neck, but he was still stumbling about, the uneven terrain hidden inside the roots' shadows. To her, however, the forest floor may as well have been perfectly flat for all the trouble it presented; she could feel every rock, every fallen limb, every hazard in her path. Her awareness did not have the range that uninterrupted sight did, but in these woods, she would have the advantage.

Had the organizers just made their play-space small enough that she could feel the whole thing at one time, it would be absolutely _perfect_.

She led the older boy through the last of the trees so he could finally observe the waist-high earthen walls they had been approaching since they arrived at the enclosure; obviously she could not tell him how she _truly_ knew where their token rested, but faking a locator charm was simple. He stepped past her and over the short bulwark to the sandstone castle sitting on one of four low platforms in the middle of the square space.

"How in Merlin's name are we supposed to move these things if they are all this big and heavy?"

Indeed, the replica of what could only be Hogwarts was massive, its highest spire stretching upwards until it was as tall as she was, and the rest of the object was on the same scale. She brushed her fingers against its surface; one of the many spells laid on it chose that moment to react, wrapping threads around her hand and wrist. Another shifted in response and pulled back the magic that was digging into the dirt like claws. _How interesting. Without anyone touching it, it will stay stuck to the ground so as to resist magical movement, but one person would probably be able to push it around, though considering the size, that would still be an exhausting undertaking. I wonder…_ "Cedric? Would you be so kind as to grab this with me?"

He shrugged before obliging, and sure enough, his efforts produced yet another change in the charmwork. As if the heavy stone weighed no more than a feather, they easily hoisted it into the air. "Of course, Hufflepuffs are all about teamwork. The two of us working together could run each of these back here and put it in one of the places set out for them," she said, pointing to the empty daises.

"But how would we keep the other teams from stealing ours while we're running about?" he countered. "Those walls aren't going to stop anybody on their own. Are we supposed to enhance them before we set out?"

A suspicion forced its way to the front of her mind. "Or maybe we have to choose one of three strategies. Do we both search for tokens, leaving our base defenseless; keep one of us here while the other manhandles them so we don't lose our own; or both stay back and take out the opposition, then go out once we're the only ones left standing?"

"Ugh. Put like that, I don't like any of those options… Oh, bugger."

"What?"

He turned to her, his face crumpled in a grimace. "What happens when one or two tokens have been taken already, assuming both champions of that school aren't out of the picture? Those two, three, even four might very well team up, at least until the successful team has been taken down. Defense will become more and more important as the Task goes on."

_Unless we take steps to end it quickly_. Jen ran her sonar over the statue again, paying close attention to how the spells on it had been woven. _Tethering, that clever little anchoring one, and several to stop anyone from working around the rules, whether by shrinking it, levitating it, charming it weightless, or transfiguring it into something else. They're all tied into runic clusters, too; amateur enchanting at its finest._

A small grin appeared as she considered her options. This style of enchanting was faster and simpler than writing the full thing out in runes, but it had some downsides as well. Only effects for which charms were already known could be used, as the spells had to be cast into the containment clusters. Additionally, a simple finishing charm could theoretically get rid of them, though it would require overpowering the magic to an insane degree. Throw in runes to keep the enchantment charged, and even she would be hard-pressed to break through it with sheer brute force.

That was where the third disadvantage raised its ugly head. 'True' enchanting caused the magic to stay inside the object on which the script was carved, but permanently charming it as done here was no different from ensorcelling it temporarily. The spell was still on the _outside_, which meant it could be manipulated, weakened, and even unraveled.

"We need to visit the other schools' bases."

Confusion was obvious in Cedric's voice. "Why?"

"For one, we should find out where they are so we aren't running around lost tomorrow, and for two, I want to see if I can't make our job a little easier."

It took them several minutes, but eventually they did find another token. There was no doubt in Jen's mind who it belonged to, either. "I wonder if our and Potter's bases were put so close together intentionally."

"You sure this is his?"

"The token is a bloody _phoenix_," she said sharply, jabbing a thumb at the offensive visage. "He's Dumbledore's Golden Boy, Dumbledore has a phoenix companion, do the arithmancy." _Our respective locations may or may not be coincidental, but the imagery here is anything but. Potter may have come out ahead in the Ravenclaw Task, but that's one out of three. He just isn't having that good of a showing, especially for someone touted to be our generation's 'Leader of the Light'. The old goat wants the public to continue their worship of him and his cause, and they won't bother if Potter keeps dropping the ball like he has been. Every mistake the boy makes the Dark more and more attractive._

She ignored the Badger's hum of agreement as she examined this token, and sure enough, the exact same spells as on their own were present. _Perfect_. Reaching out with mental fingers, she started plucking away at the strands of magic where multiple enchantments crossed, checking for where the fabric of energy frayed most quickly. The more spells were laid on an object, the easier they were to disrupt by this subtle approach, though few people could taking advantage of that fact. The ability to sense the currents of magic — be it through magesight, aural detection, or a tactile method like her sonar — was a necessity.

One tearing motion of her left hand later, and the protections were history. She strangled the cackling laugh that threatened to spill out and hastily reapplied the protections, tying them collectively to a single runic cluster. This should still prevent finishing charms from being entirely effective while simultaneously weakening it to her own strategy and thereby requiring less time that an opponent could use against her. With several harsh flicks of her blank wand and a flash of light for Cedric's benefit, she sighed, "All right, this one's done. Onto the next."

"Wait, what? What did you just do?"

"I _may_ have modified the spells on the token to be easier for me to remove tomorrow."

He gaped at her. "You're sabotaging the other champions?"

"Sabotaging, tactical planning, winning, call it what you will. I have been told many times that I am a Raven with a Snake's heart—" _albeit solely by the few people who know me well_ "—and I will not ignore any advantage that is handed to me on a silver platter."

"So you're going to _cheat_, instead?" he demanded.

_The Baron save me from idealistic Hufflepuffs_, she pled mentally. "Absolutely. Besides, you don't have any room to criticize, Mr. _'Let's-check-out-the-playing-field-beforehand'_." At his wince, she continued, "We, all of the champions, started cheating almost the moment our names were drawn from those Goblets. Messing with the enchantments on these statues to give our team an edge may be a little more direct than, say, finding out that we have to steal eggs from dragons or watching other champions practice with wandless foci in order to counter their strategies, but otherwise it is no different.

"If you're still uncomfortable with this, though, fine. I'll see you tomorrow. Don't hurt yourself on your way back to the castle."

Striding past him, she only made it two dozen paces before his voice rang out. "Wait, wait." He jogged up to her, shoving his hands in his pockets as he came up beside her. "You're right. We've been cheating since day one; I just didn't want to admit it to myself. It's just… it goes against everything I've ever been taught about fair play, about basic honesty."

"Is it really unfair if everyone is doing it, though? Seems like we're following the unwritten rules at that point."

He shrugged in grim uncertainty. After walking far enough for her to orient herself to the pegasus statue that could only represent Beauxbatons, he asked, "So… if you're going to run around collecting the tokens by yourself, I guess I'll hang back and protect our own. Any suggestions on what the defenses should be?"

She knew he was asking so they could move past their uncomfortable conversation, but she let it slide; he had, after all, raised a valid concern. _Temporary wards are out of the question; I can't erect them without using all my fingers to aid my concentration, and there is no way I could disguise __**that**__ as wanded magic._ "I can throw a few charms or quick enchantments onto the walls, I guess; maybe make them taller as well so anyone attacking will have to do more than just step over them. I was kind of hoping you would have a idea for that." In all honesty, she had been so preoccupied with her plan to take the tokens that she had not given a thought to how to keep theirs safe.

"Well, Transfiguration _is_ my best subject," Cedric said with no small degree of pride. "If you'll take care of the charms, I'm sure I can come up with _something_."

* * *

Barty Crouch glared at the roped-off section of the Forbidden Forest in front of him. His Master was becoming impatient at how much longer He had to wait before He could capture the Potter boy and utilize him for His return. Still, there were only two more Tasks including this one, and he had already created plans to subtly assist Potter so the brat would reach the Triwizard Cup first. Feeling the first tingles of the Polyjuice wearing off, he pulled a silver flask from his pocket and took a quick swig.

"It's not even twelve yet, old friend. You really should cut back on your liquor intake unless you intend to drink yourself into an early grave."

He took a moment to ensure none of his hatred, rage, or panic was displayed on his face before he turned to the newcomer. Albus Dumbledore was without a doubt the greatest threat to his Master's plan; on rare occasions, He had even spoken of the headmaster with the kind of grudging respect only found between long-standing but still much-hated enemies, though that did not mean He wasn't going to make the so-called Leader of the Light suffer before his death. If the old man discovered Barty was Barty, the Dark Lord would have no one to assist Him in His ambitions, and Barty _refused_ to let that happen. "And what if that _is_, in fact, my intent?"

"Then I think Margaret will be disappointed that you should choose such a means to join her on the other side of the Veil." The old man clapped one wrinkled hand on his shoulder. "Come, it makes little sense for us to watch the Task from down here. Let us adjourn to our seats."

* * *

"Welcome, welcome, to the Hufflepuff Task!"

Danny fidgeted where he stood, eager to get this whole thing over with. He had not wanted to be part of this Tournament at all, but once in it, he assumed it would be simple enough. After all, he had already faced a cerberus, giant spiders, a basilisk, and Voldemort _twice_. With those credentials, he should have been in the lead from the very first Task.

He wasn't. That Black, a Dark witch of all things, had been doing so well until what even _he_ would agree was a ridiculously unfair ruling on the part of the judges just rubbed salt in his wound.

"For anyone who wasn't paying attention nearly two months ago, this Task is very much like the game Capture the Crup, with each school making up one team. As such, it was brought to our attention that it would put Potter at a severe disadvantage to go through this alone—" The former Beater paused at the boos echoing throughout the stands. _I sure hope that's __**for**__ Black and how she was disadvantaged last Task and not __**against**__ me._ "As I was saying, he has been given the opportunity to bring a partner onto the field with him. Mr. Potter, who have you chosen?"

He cleared his throat nervously before calling out, "I choose Neville Longbottom." Standing on his right, his godbrother smiled faintly, and he was hit by a fresh wave of guilt. Though raised as brothers in all but blood, the two boys had drifted apart shortly after the start of their first year, with him spending time with Ron and Neville making friends with several other green-thumbed students he met in Sprout's Herbology Club. Hermione putting Neville in a body-bind when he tried to stop them going after the Stone that June — he had not been present when Danny had his revelation about the thief's identity, and they just had not had time to explain things sufficiently at the time — had soured their relationship further.

While they were still friendly whenever they were in the same room, they hadn't gone out of their way to spend time with each other. Yet, maybe because Neville was just that much better of a person than he was, the Longbottom scion had stood by him when everyone else but Hermione thought he had snuck his name into the Goblet. His quiet explanation, _'We may have different interests and get on each other's nerves now and again, but we're still family'_, had made Danny feel terrible for never once seeking reconciliation.

That was not the only reason he wanted Neville beside him now, however. Like his Uncle Remus, the boy was clever and calm, keeping a cool head in tense situations. He could not count the number of times Neville had come up with alibis when they were kids and left evidence that they had done something or been somewhere they really should not have. His godbrother was also as loyal as any Hufflepuff; Ron, who he had also considered for this spot, had proven himself not to be, and he was still a little worried that the redhead would up and leave him again when the going got tough.

"Very well, Mr. Potter. Okay then, let's get cracking. The senior champions will enter the forest at precisely noon, which gives all you juniors ten minutes to find your tokens and set up any little tricks and traps you want, though you can't go after the other teams' tokens until the seniors are inside as well. Mr. Longbottom, you will be with the juniors while Mr. Potter waits here. And… Go!"

The younger champions, all but one older than Danny, shot into the woods.

* * *

Cedric raced through the trees, eyes flicking suspiciously at every wavering shadow and rustle of leaves. With all eight of them inside, being cursed in the back was a very distinct possibility. That would put a distinct crimp in his plan to reclaim first place.

Breaking through the foliage, he stopped in his tracks and stared. _Well, she's certainly been busy._ Stone walls now stretched over his head, fifteen feet tall if they were an inch, with a wooden door sitting in the middle of the wall in front of him. He reached for the knob, only for a voice to ring out, "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"Jen? How am I supposed to get in, then?"

"Keep looking."

He rounded the roofless building to the side opposite the obvious entrance, confused about what she meant. There was no opening here. Just as he was about to ask for clarification, a pale hand slipped through solid stone and crooked a finger at him before vanishing once more. _Points for her_, he thought as he slipped through the illusion. _If I didn't know better, I'd think she cast the exact same charm as what's on the portal from the Muggle world to Platform 9¾._ "Wow, you really outdid yourself there. What would have happened had I touched the door?"

"Oh, just enough to keep you from doing it again," she replied with a grin as she pointed to the blank wall that showed no hint that there was a door on the other side. "It isn't even real, anyway. Since you mentioned doing some transfiguration last night, I left plenty of material around for you to work with."

"Thanks," he said idly, glancing at the large rocks strewn about the floor. Plans gamboled through his head like a litter of kneazle kittens.

"All right, I'm off. Bringing back the tokens should be as easy as taking candy from a baby."

"Yeah, okay." He held up one hand for her to high-five as she walked past. She vanished from sight right before she would have exited the portal. "Good hunting."

* * *

Looking back and forth between the glass panes floating before the crowd, Lily was quite displeased with the suspicions unfolding in her mind. All the champions besides Danny and Neville had moved far too confidently to where their tokens were 'hidden' to be sheer happenstance, but the layout of the forest was supposed to be a mystery. Was her son the only one competing honorably? "Don't the judges care that everyone is cheating?"

"That's a bit of an open secret about this tournament. Honestly, I thought you already knew about it," Remus said from her left. "While cheating is_ officially_ grounds for a point deduction, the _reality_ is that that only happens if the champions are caught in the act. Otherwise…"

She harrumphed and returned her attention to the screens. At least the scenes they showed were not _all_ bad. Jenny's work, for instance, had been truly impressive despite the fact that she could be seen herself; the viewing crystals scattered throughout the forest only showed a single angle each, and none of them were high enough to peer over the walls she had raised. The Diggory boy was now inside as well, but they seemed to be working off a purely defensive strategy, much to Lily's disappointment. She may have had to strangle the desire to cheer her daughter on out loud throughout the previous two Tasks, but that did not mean she had not enjoyed watching Jenny compete just as much as she did Danny play Quidditch.

Speaking of her son, from the corner of her eye she saw him and Neville flash scarlet before falling limply to the ground outside their base.

"What in the…" She trailed off as their attacker was revealed. Jenny faded into sight inside the low walls before stepping closer to the large phoenix statue. Wand waving like a conductor's baton, she finally tapped the token, which immediately flashed with a brilliant white light. A graceful sweeping gesture transfigured it into a small disc even as it flew into her pocket. She then — somehow — turned to face the camera to wave goodbye mockingly before once more disappearing.

One section of students, all of them bedecked in Ravenclaw blue, exploded into shouts and laughter, joined shortly by a large portion of Badgers and even a few of the younger Slytherins. In an uncomfortable reversal of what Lily was used to from her own school days, it was the Gryffindors who by and large sat stone-faced and silent.

"That's impossible!" James finally whispered, his eyes wide in shock and disbelief. "Only cloaks made from demiguise hair permit true invisibility. She doesn't have one!"

"I guess she found another way," was Lily's gentle reply. She cut her eyes to the five Blacks in attendance, her sorrow tinged with self-loathing and not a little envy.

* * *

"No courtesy at all," Jen quipped as she stepped over the fallen Veela, dismissing the invisibility spell around her. "The rest of us might have wanted a chance to take her down a few pegs too, you know."

Next to the rearing Abraxan, the Bulgarian wizard straightened from his crouch. His voice was soft as he replied, "I should haff known it vould be you looking for de tokens, dough I hoped dat vould not be de case."

"You mean you didn't want to see me?" She laid her left hand over her heart. "Viktor, how could you say something like that? I'm so hurt, I might just _cry_."

"As you English vould say, Jen, _boollsheet_. I vould not believe dose tears for a moment. You are not so veak as to cry vhen you could curse de odder person instead." Her chuckles affirmed his understanding of her character. Pointing to the statue they were competing over, he asked, "Vhat are ve going to do about dis?"

She abandoned her saddened facade completely, enthusiasm taking its place. "I seem to remember you requesting a rematch when we were all laid up in the hospital wing after the wandless duels." She spread her arms to indicate the small clearing in which the Beauxbatons base was situated. "It's not like we don't have the time and space."

"If you can get rid of de valls, I vill move Delacour out of de vay."

_Give me the more magically expensive job so I waste my reserves before we even start_, she thought with approval. _Forget the bad boys; I'll take a crafty man any day._ A downwards flick of her blank wand melted the waist-high barriers into mud while a second movement in the opposite direction pulled clumps of stone from the ground to surround the statue. It would not do to chance it becoming collateral damage.

"Very nice. I had not dought about doing dat." Viktor stood in front of her, his wand positioned in front of his face in a classic duelists' salute. "Are you ready?"

She pulled out the skirt of an imaginary dress as she dropped into a shallow curtsey. "Impress me, pansy man." Her bent knees let her spring to the side to dodge the spell that immediately shot from the Quidditch star's wand.

The duel was on.

_He's dead-set on beating me this time_, she mused; thanks to her sonar, she had felt the tree behind her former position burst into flame, reinforcing her desire not to be hit. _Good. I would find him taking me lightly to be incredibly insulting._ A wave of her right hand caused large panthers to rush out of the mud she had created while a surreptitious gesture with her left caused them to move even faster, thought that did not save them from the tongues of electricity that pierced them.

Starting from that first interchange, it became clear that Viktor was far, far better than her in a conventional fight, the experience from years of mandatory dueling classes giving him an edge that she just could not counter without resorting to dark magic or casting with both hands. Working with a unfamiliar focus in the Slytherin Task had apparently disadvantaged him more than she previously believed. As the minutes flew by, she found herself casting fewer hexes of her own and raising more ethereal and physical shields to protect herself. That did not mean she let up on offense completely; spears of conjured ice flew at him while transfigured animals, running the gamut from cow to crow to cobra, rose from the remains of their predecessors.

Once she started copying the flow of the spells McGonagall taught and then analyzing the results on her own time rather than try to move to the unfamiliar final form directly, that class had become much more informative. She really owed the catwoman an apology for her initial disinterest.

A shouted "_Reducto_!", the first incantation her opponent had uttered since their match began, gave her amble warning to leap out from behind her most recent earthen wall before it became rubble ripping through the space she had occupied. Doing so, however, caused her to roll over one of several poorly-aimed nets he had conjured early on; the ropes came to life and wrapped themselves tightly about her, squeezing the air from her lungs.

She had paid so much attention to the curses he was unleashing that she had ignored the charms on the bindings and thereby walked right into his trap.

Viktor walked up to the space by her head, looking down at her face with a hesitant smile. "You are an excellent duelist, better by far dan I vas at fourteen, but it looks like dis is my vin nonedeless." A puzzled expression found its way onto his face, for she was not angry or afraid.

No, she was grinning as well, for her blunder was nothing compared to _his_.

One of the benefits to her particular style of magic, besides the lack of easily stolen focus, was that she understood how various spells were related. The summoning and banishing charms, for instance, were taught as a pair, but Flitwick never discussed exactly how they were nothing more than the creation of either an attractive or repulsive force between the target and the caster, nor did he explain that they were therefore very similar to the levitation charm taught in first year, which was simply a variable force pushing away the ground. She personally believed the normally helpful quarter-goblin kept his students in the dark because he himself was unaware of this. On the other hand, she could use those common principles to create effects those spells were never intended to cause.

Such as, for instance, spinning herself in a half-circle while laid out on the ground.

Shocked at her maneuver, Viktor did not step back as he should have, allowing her feet to whip around behind his ankles and pull his legs out from under him. A clenching of her fists vanished the web binding her, and she threw herself on top of her competitor. She slapped the wand out of his grip with her left hand while with her right she flung his arms out to his sides and temporarily paralyzed his voluntary muscles from the neck down. Straddling his hips and greedily sucking in the sweet, sweet air his ropes had denied her, she finally panted, "Not quite. You could have won — _should_ have, to be totally honest — but letting down your guard like that was a mistake. If you had stayed back and kept your wand on me, I would have been at your mercy, but you gave the 'helpless damsel' an opportunity to turn your own trap against you. In the end, you were just too damn gallant for your own good.

"You did as I asked, though, and for that I thank you. I am most _definitely_ impressed."

Jen sat there for a minute just catching her breath, noting with pleasure how she could almost feel his gaze grow hot as his head, despite him repeatedly jerking it back, gradually drifted towards her heaving breasts. What she could _actually_ feel confirmed where his attention lay. _Maybe not so chivalrous, after all_. A wicked grin grew as she wiggled ever-so-slightly against the bulge pressing between her thighs. Barely audible, she murmured, "Is that the wand you normally use to charm your conquests, perchance?"

He groaned and dropped his head to the ground with a quiet thump. "_Prokletoto neshto ima sobstveno mnenie_."

Laughing, she dragged herself up his body as she leaned forwards. "He hasn't done anything wrong," she whispered in his ear, "so please, for me, don't strangle him too badly tonight." She gave his burning cheek a quick peck before rendering him unconscious.

"Pleasant dreams."

* * *

Cedric looked over the battle taking place below him. He had not been lazy despite him having the easier job; as soon as Jen departed to steal the other teams' tokens, he had set about transfiguring and conjuring numerous obstacles to any would-be attackers, and he was now glad he had done so. With a quick swirl of his wand, he repaired yet another golem, and the automaton raced back into the fray.

Eberhardt cursed in her native tongue as she tried to deter the pride of stone lions circling her. She shouted, "Leroux! Do someding!"

"I'm a leetle busy!" the Frenchman snapped back, hopping away from the company of badgers snapping at his heels. Though not as inherently dangerous as the large felines surrounding his temporary ally, the animals were smaller and more numerous, making them harder to stop. If they brought him to the ground, they were also fully capable of inflicting serious injuries.

_And that is just another reason why people should never underestimate Hufflepuffs_.

The German junior had been the first to lay siege to his base, though the girl fled the moment his golems woke up and began moving in force towards her. When Leroux had arrived a short time later, they had agreed to join forces and worry about who would take the castle token back when they actually had it, something they clearly understood neither was capable of on their own.

That had been almost fifteen minutes ago, and they had advanced only a few feet since. Thanks to Jen raising the high walls, Cedric had needed to do little more than create enough active defenses to hold the invaders off, permitting him to conserve his magic for the off-chance they succeeded in entering.

"_Accio_ wall!" shouted the Durmstrang champion. She flew through a gap between lions; since the edifice was much heavier than she was, the charm pulled _her_ to _it_ rather than the other way around. Forcing her way through the grass the Hufflepuff bespelled to grab at her ankles, she laid one hand on the knob.

Though he could not see the wood of the false door, he certainly noticed when it flashed with azure brilliance. Eberhardt shrieked as she was thrown away from the base, lightning still crackling on her skin, and into a tree some twenty feet away. He could not help but gape and recall Jen's warning. _If that's her idea of _'just enough to keep you from doing it again'_, I'm scared to see what she'd use if she was really __**trying**__ to hurt somebody._

The electrocuted girl moaned lowly as she struggled to sit up. As much for her own safety as to keep her from rejoining the fight, Cedric carefully aimed his ash wand at the tree she lay under. "_Cavea radicum_," he intoned, his spell ripping the roots of that tall pine out of the ground and wrapping them around her.

Leroux snarled and blew the harassing badgers away with a wide-area banishing charm. Snapping his wand up, he sent a jet of dark red light at Cedric, who dropped to the floor of his wall-mounted platform to avoid it.

_Well, that certainly did not look like a spell I want to experience firsthand_. He raised his head and peered at the stone arms decorating the inside surface of the wall; maybe it was time to get a little more aggressive. With a complex animation charm, the same one he had used on his golem during the wandless duels so it would respond to his voice, he commanded, "Throw!" The hands lowered to grasp chunks of rock he had set up for just this purpose and whipped around, flinging the projectiles at blistering speeds towards the lone enemy still standing.

Several loud thumps mixed with a short cry, and then there was silence. Cedric peered over the edge and immediately found Leroux. The Frenchman lay unmoving on the ground under a pile of fist-sized stones, red lumps already forming on his head.

"Not bad." The Badgers' hero glanced in the direction of the voice, and he was unsurprised when his teammate rippled into existence. "Permission to approach unmolested, General?"

"You have the tokens? Already?"

"Wasn't hard. Potter was pitiful, and the Durmstrang base was abandoned once I fought Viktor for Beauxbatons's statue." She rubbed her ribs with a grimace. "He's a _lot_ tougher with a wand, though, make no mistake about that. He'd have won if I hadn't caught him with a sucker punch."

Cedric shuddered; his own experience fighting the Bulgarian was bad enough. _Still, I wonder when she and Krum became familiar enough for her to refer to him by his first name._ Shaking off his idle curiosity, he called his transfigured defenses back and motioned her on. He clambered down the short ladder he had created to see over the top edge of the walls and waited for her to slip inside through her hidden opening. "Let's see them."

She smiled and pulled three grey discs, no larger than a sickle, from one pocket of her trousers before placing them in the middle of the unoccupied pedestals. Three finishing charms returned them to their natural states.

_Castle, sailing ship, winged horse, phoenix. That's all of them._ "How do we let the judges know for sure that we have them?"

Jen pursed her lips for a moment before tapping her wand against a cluster of runes he had not noticed were carved into the square stage below their own token. "I tied all the transfigurations together to keep anyone from being able to take them apart the easy way. You made that ladder and platform from the rubble I left out, I'm guessing?"

He nodded before helping her dismantle the walls. Once everything had been returned to how it was when they first saw it the previous night, a loud whistle sounded.

Four Tasks down, one more to go.

* * *

Jen, Cedric, Viktor, Potter, and Longbottom were forced to wait for nearly half an hour in a small, hastily-erected tent. Conversation was sparse and tense, and all of them were ecstatic when a mediwizard walked in to tell them that the other three competitors had had their injuries treated sufficiently for them to receive their scores.

The black witch was honestly surprised that she had only wounded one of the fallen, and even that was indirectly.

Bagman stood from his chair among the other judges. "Though this Task went quite a bit differently than expected, we have decided how to award your points. As each team was to work together, both champions from a single school will receive the same score.

"In first place is, who else, Hogwarts!" The crowd screamed, and Jen and Cedric waved to their adoring fans. "Not only did they collect all three tokens, they were the only ones still standing at the end. Diggory, Black, take thirty points for your valiant efforts!

"Second place was difficult to determine, but we ultimately decided that since Leroux was conscious a few seconds longer than Eberhardt, twenty points go to Beauxbatons." Both French champions, none too happy about having to hold the other up, glowered even as their school cheered.

"Durmstrang, you two receive ten points, though I will tell you right now, Mr. Krum, that the skill and tactics you displayed during that duel with Black nearly convinced us to award second place to your school." Bagman waited out the scattered applause from the Eastern Europeans before continuing, "Finally, coming in last, is Potter and Longbottom as they were the first ones taken out, just five minutes after the Task officially began. You get no points.

"Now, we the judges have tallied up all the points we have awarded over the course of these Tasks, and I have to say, the results are surprising. First place overall… is a tie!" The spectators began jabbering away, and the former Quidditch pro raised his hands for silence. "Yes, yes, Diggory and Krum are dead even with 116 points apiece, but they should take care not to get too comfortable; Black is breathing down their necks from an _extremely_ close third, being just _one_ point behind them. Potter, Delacour, Leroux, and Eberhardt are practically in a different race altogether, with 90, 85, 74, and 65 points, respectively. These scores will determine the timing with which our brave champions enter the fifth and final Task, which will take place on the sixteenth of June, giving all you students something to look forward to for when you're through with your exams. More details will be shared on that day.

"Until then, ladies and gentlemen, goodbye!"

* * *

**Good grief, Lily, why won't you let me rip on you for just a little bit?! It's like kicking a hurt puppy or something. I can't believe I'm saying this, but… be more like James!**

_**Prokletoto neshto ima sobstveno mnenie**_**:** Damn thing has a mind of its own. **Thank you, Google Translate.**

**I'm going to be completely honest: I had no idea the points were distributed like that until I added them all up for this chapter. That said, the results could not have been better had I planned the whole thing out.**

**Silently Watches out.**


End file.
